


The Circle

by Triyune



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Asphyxiation, BDSM, Blasphemy, Blood Kink, Blood Play, Bondage, Branding, Breathplay, Cock & Ball Torture, Despair, Drugs, Emotional Manipulation, Enemas, Flogging, Heavy Angst, Humiliation, M/M, Marking, Masks, Master/Slave, Masturbation, Mindfuck, Multi, Nipple Piercings, Oral Sex, Painplay, Psychosis, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slave Training, Strangulation, Switching, Torture, Violence, Whipping, dubcon, love is the drug!, pain play, story of o
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-10-23
Packaged: 2019-03-20 17:36:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13722678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Triyune/pseuds/Triyune
Summary: A strange invitation engages the Joker’s interest. Bored and deprived of his wellbeing, he accepts it, not knowing that it will change his life entirely. He faces his fears, worries, hopes and dreams and only some of these will survive.The Vaudeville Cercle: We offer a safe place and space for your innermost desires, darkest fantasies and most romantic tendencies.You ask, we deliver.pairing: Bruce as the Volto x Joker





	1. The breaking

**Author's Note:**

> For about 10 years, I have been thinking about writing a story combining the atmosphere and place of Roissy and Eyes Wide Shut. Here it is, featuring DC's toughest guys, Joker and the Bat.
> 
> additional info:  
> Venetian masks like the Bauta, Volto, Zanni or Colombina are used; please check this link for reference images: https://sta.sh/21tp0c3fzvel

****

The Circle  
Part 1: The breaking

 

After having managed to fall out of the bed finally, I went to the kitchen to make some coffee. On the way to breakfast, which usually took place at 11 a.m., I let my eyes wander over the interior of my apartment. Thinking of what it had looked like when I had squatted that ruin made me laugh. No one seemed to mind, no one had barely noticed and it had become an accepted fact that the Joker was now living in this hellhole. Not that many knew, but those who knew laughed every time they saw me.

With the money I had sleeping on various bank accounts, coming from some profitable bank heists plus the returns from some share investments some of my men were taking care of I could have moved into a castle and kept a herd of first class bulldogs. The reason for staying in this hovel was cover. Half a year ago, one Saturday morning, too early, the Bat had suddenly been towering over my bed and I had almost died of a heart attack. I knew then that I couldn’t live as luxuriously as I would like to.

If I moved into a new building in the heart of Gotham, roof deck, three sleeping rooms, four baths, gossip would soon carry these news to the Bat as well. That way, living in the suburbs where everyone settled who didn’t want to attract too much attention and where news stayed news only for these people who lived there, I could feel safer.  
I frowned, thinking of that strange Saturday morning again. The scent of the grinded coffee served to wake me up more than the coffee would in some minutes.

How had I managed to escape? As hard as I tried to think of that situation, it eluded me. I could have painted an image of the Bat standing there, but I had no memories as for what happened then. Usually, I kept every detail of encounters or other happenings in mind so not being able to remember my escape seemed unrealistic.

Absentmindedly, I touched the scar under my ribcage. When I became aware of that I immediately stopped and checked for the coffee. I didn’t want to fall for that again. Not that early in the morning. The day would be ruined, as usual. It was embarrassing that I had spent the last two weeks hanging around on the sofa, watching TV, drinking and playing with myself, only going out for some milk anyway. No projects would come to my mind and I wasn’t in the mood for that at all.

Generally, I had been very moody the last few months, not knowing where that came from. I tried to draw, I tried to play the bass guitar...no, that was a joke, but I tried out some instruments in some shop but it just wouldn’t work out. I had lost a few pounds during those months because I didn’t eat regularly anymore either. Something was wrong.  
I poured the coffee into the cup and went to the fridge to get the milk.  
I threw a fit when the milk was empty. How stupid had I been, putting the empty milk bottle back into the fridge?

“Where are my pants?!!” I screamed, not expecting any reply at all.

Recently, things like that threw me. I was unbalanced and tense and didn’t know how to help that at all.  
When I had found the pants I put them on and left the flat, shoeless and topless. In the little grocery store at the corner of the street I got me some milk and some bewildered glances. Self-confidently, I passed Joe Bonny, another one of my employees who took care of business. He frowned and stopped.

“You okay, Joe?”

I pressed my teeth together, stopped, turned around and answered with an infuriated yell, wildly gesticulating with the milk bottle in my hand: “Why thanks, yes!!!”

Turning around and leaving a dumbfounded Joe behind, I hurried to get back to my haven. So many idiots around, and I was just one of them. When I entered the house I felt more relaxed already. Up the stairs and back to my room.  
When I opened the door I noticed that something was different. A white envelope was lying on the floor, right in front of me. I picked it up and opened it. In my current mood, I didn’t think of any exploding letters of similar shit at all.  
The paper was black, the letters fine and white.

“Dear Sir,  
you are invited to join the Vaudeville Cercle.  
Friday, 23rd, 8 p.m. A taxi will meet you.  
Dresscode: Black tie. Please bring a mask.”

I kept staring at it until I was no wiser than before. The Vaudeville Cercle didn’t ring a bell at all. I put the invitation on the table and finally put some milk into my coffee. I remembered having heard about that word during my comedy courses, something about theatre or movies. Maybe it was a club dedicated to movies or theatre.

Later in the evening, I decided that I would accept the invitation. I had no plans how to annoy the Bat or wreak some havoc in Gotham and I felt just as useful as a hole in the head. In fact, I was feeling quite low at the moment. That morning had not been one of the better ones and I did my best to suppress those thoughts. Something was going wrong. I just didn’t want to admit it. So in order to distract my mind from that I would put all my effort into that and the masquerade.  
You should know, that is my speciality.

After two days of thinking hard on the disguise I decided for a black tailcoat together with a black chemise and black pants. And spats. In black. Then I got me some materials for casting the mask. It was going to be a modified black Commedia dell arte mask, allowing me to speak clearly in case I had to.

On the 23rd I got dressed in the morning already in order to get familiar with my role. Obviously, everyone was going to appear in disguise and I practiced moving differently so that they wouldn’t recognize me at all. In the evening, I dyed my hair. I didn’t do that very often but every time I did that it felt somewhat odd, seeing my hair back in its original colour.  
Then I painted my face so that I looked like one of them.

When I was done I didn’t dare to take a step back and take a look at it. I was afraid of that.  
Jack Napier was gone; I had buried him by the shore of the acid pool. That individual had been a pathetic loser, bowing and scraping before the big guys, begging for attention and despairing when it wasn’t granted. Someone who begged to be betrayed, to be taken advantage of. And the housebreaking he had been talked into had been the final act. Drop the curtain and wait for the applause. Something which will never come.

I realized then that I couldn’t live on others’ benevolence and trust in it. My trust had been betrayed several times and it needed something devastating to make me realize. Something, which would strip me bare of these inferiority complexes and meekness. Something which would force me to be demanding and imperious. Something which would change my position from a bootlicker to the one who gets his boots licked, with no regard for the ones who’d assume my position and be the new bootlickers. They could rise themselves as I had done it for myself.

After all, with that look, I wouldn’t have survived a night in Gotham, being the one who I used to be, depending on others, desperately looking for help. They’d have killed me and displayed my skin in the Freaks of Nature museum of Gotham, getting a neat sum of money for that.  
Either you change or you perish, but without style. Jack didn’t stand a chance, he was unable to survive.  
He had to die.

Full of hate, I stared at the figure looking at me in the mirror. It was just a shallow echo, but enough to get me worked up. I turned around and left to put on the mask.  
At 8 p.m. I headed downstairs and when I opened the door I already saw the taxi. I got in and we left, wordlessly.  
The panes were blacked-out so no one could see through; only I could see what was going on outside. We drove towards the western boundaries of the city, leaving the heart and then even the suburbs behind, out into the woods.

After a fifteen minute drive we passed huge gates. In front of us, in the middle of nowhere, was a mansion stretching into the void, illuminated by thousands of lanterns, dipping the front into yellow light. A chateau of immense size. While we were approaching it I was wondering why I had never heard of it or seen it. Yet, on the other hand, I hadn’t taken much interest in the surroundings of Gotham since I had been taken to the southern boundaries to the asylum. My curiosity as for Gotham’s surroundings had been killed there and never woken again.

I got out of the taxi and went through the wooden doors. A long corridor, of which I couldn’t even see the end, lay in front of me. The walls were painted white, lavishly decorated with golden stucco, paintings and statues. The furniture looked old, yet new. The height of the rooms suggested that only the sky was the limit and the ceilings showed hunting scenes of the very odd kind. There was a dead fox, three men, five women and dogs and the men were-

“Sir, this way, please”

A servant was awaiting me. I left the sodomy behind and followed him, curious about the rest of this strange place. He led me into a huge hall where about 100 men were already waiting in a circle. Blatantly, I crossed the hall and lined up as well.

As I stood there, waiting for something to happen, I looked around. The urge to do something and catch their attention was almost unbearable, but I felt that it was not the place and time for that. That was something bigger than that. Something, someone as macabre and as obsessed as I had put a lot of effort into.  
These were all men; dressed in evening dresses such like suits of all kinds, most of them wearing capes and hoods to cover their head fully. A few archaic African masks, masks made of metal in odd shapes, distorting their faces and many Venetian masks, the Zanni, various Colombinas, the Harlequin, Casanovas, the Bauta, skulls...but not a single Joker.

In the course of the following 20 minutes more men entered the hall and lined up until the circle was full.  
I couldn’t but curl my lips at seeing some owls as well. They were so vain as to even wear their masks at this event so everyone would know who they were. A sting of haughtiness made me press my lips together and raise my head. Lowlife ldiots.  
A loud noise washed through the hall and I turned my head just to see three tall men entering. Two of them were dressed in shiny black suits with black painted faces and the third wore a Bauta. It was painted in plain black, the simplest of all masks, unadorned and unpretentious.

When he had reached the middle of the circle a flock of naked women entered the hall, each walking towards one of the men around and positioning herself in front of a man. All of them wore the same mask, a blue Colombina.  
A red-haired woman looked me in the eyes. I was determined to defy any advances.  
She lifted a glass filled with transparent liquid. Every woman did the same, offering the men a glass. They took it and drank and so did I, curious as to what this game was about.

The glasses were given back and then there was silence. I kept looking her in the eyes.  
Blue circles framed by the ocean, moving gently, showing faint golden rays of the sun dancing on the waves...a bitter taste in the back of my mouth alarmed me but it was too late. Heat spread in my body and my hands started shaking. My knees gave way and I gave in, but before I hit the floor her gentle arms embraced and held me. Two other men had collapsed and were held up by women now as well.  
I heard a voice coming across the hall, shattered and in echoes and I couldn’t find out where it came from.

I was lifted and carried away; the walls of that hall merged and vanished in the air, like smoke, as I flew past them.  
We stopped and gloved fingers closed around my arms and legs and pushed me through the world. Veils of grey and black were pulled open before we passed them until I landed on something ice-cold and hard. Struggling for breath from the cold spreading on my legs and back, I tried to move and protest but I couldn’t. My arms felt too heavy and after some feeble attempts I gave it up. Hands undressed me, took away my coat, opened my chemise and took away my shoes and spats. A black Bauta leaned over my face. Faceless, emotionless horror.

“I’m going to kill yer,” I managed to pronounce, but no one took notice. Only now I realized that I was lying on a dissecting table.  
The nose of a Zanni touched my flank and I looked down. My pants were gone.  
Now I was desperate enough to move, at least my lips, and when I was cursing my way through hell the Bauta appeared again and pressed something between my lips and teeth. My head was lifted and the straps of the gag were closed.

That was the moment when I knew that I was in serious trouble. This castle was all about debauchery, I had noticed that much; yet, if my screams shouldn’t be heard in this hell of whispering, moaning and screaming I had a grave problem.  
Something moved beyond the ring of muscles of my ass and I huffed, not being able to do anything else. The eyes of the Zanni stared at me in glee.  
It was too large and hurt, yet only for a moment until I felt it sliding in and popping into place. The feeling of something entering instead of leaving my ass made me feel sick. Surely, I had been experimenting with some strange stuff as a teen but nothing as serious as that.

People entered the room; three men, one of them accompanied by one of those naked women. Silently, they lined up by the wall, watching.  
A black skull pushed an intravenous bottle holder past me. I wanted to say something, I wanted to shout and I wanted to leave but none of that was possible. The gag only allowed me to make muffled sounds of discomfort.  
The Bauta moved close to my face and whispered in my ear.

“We can’t fuck you properly if you’re full of shit, you wacko.”

As I was still pondering over what he could have meant I felt a stinging pain in my bowels. I averted my eyes from the Bauta and helplessly searched for the cause of that unpleasance. When I saw a tube going from my ass to a bag I closed my eyes in terror. Heat moved up to my head and a pang of utmost despair attacked my brain.

“Never done some colon hydrotherapy? This practice is a marvel,” the skull rasped into my ear. The voice sounded familiar to me but I didn’t dare to assume that to be true. If that really was Sionis I was better dying before it was his turn. He had never forgiven me for killing his girlie.  
I turned my head away in pain, things were really getting uncomfortable by now and I knew that they wouldn’t stop till those two litres were gone. My heart was aching and racing and I felt lightheaded.

Now the Zanni started massaging my belly and I wished I had been able to disappear without a sound, without notice. The humiliation I felt at that was comparable with the worst practices at Arkham.  
One litre still left. At times, I could feel the water running into my bowels and then they felt completely numb. However, now they were about full and the cramps worsened. I would have clenched my fists but that was impossible. I had to stand the pain silently, unable to move at all.

Until now I had avoided looking down again because I wanted to spare myself that sight but when I checked for the water still left in the bag I inevitably saw it. My belly was bulging already to the size of a mid-pregnant woman. I started gagging and immediately tried to calm down again when I got aware of my situation. If I really was throwing up it could go nowhere else than through my nose and I didn’t want to give them another reason for laughing at me.  
Memories of my stage appearances flashed through my mind anyway. It was the same laughter, the same feeling of humiliation. I took that personally.

Suddenly, the tube together with the plug were pulled from my ass and for a second, the water welled from my body but the Bauta quickly shoved another plug in. This one was bigger and still hurt when it was staying where it should.  
I would erase that from my mind. All of it. From the moment I entered that place up to now and what would probably follow for the next four hours.

The plug was pulled from my ass and I arched up in pain, only to find myself taking in the dick of the Zanni. I flexed my fingers, the pain overriding the effects of that drink. Fear, humiliation and an angry kind of despair filled my head, giving me the worst time of my life. Not even Arkham had been as brutal.

“This town needs an enema!” a shrill voice shouted across the room and at the last word I saw that person dancing into my vision.  
A joker.  
With a surprised sound, it disappeared from my vision again, pushed aside by a Volto. His mask wore no expression, it was only decorated with a black pattern I couldn’t identify from where I was lying. His cape was flying through the room as he rushed to the table. He filled the entire room with his presence.

The Zanni was pushed aside in the same manner and I whimpered as his hard-on slid from my ass. He fell to the floor, followed by a riot.  
Mercilessly, the water poured from my ass and the smell of that made me gag again. Though, all-encompassing relief spread in my body while water and faeces hit the floor. 

“Who do you think you are?!” the Bauta screamed but was disgracefully pushed away as well. The watchers by the wall scattered; some of them left, others kept watching in delighted curiosity.  
The Volto leaned over me and removed the gag; black velvet caressed my skin for a moment until I was lifted by strong arms. Irrespective of the water still flowing from my ass, he left the room at a smart pace with me on his arms.

Walls, golden statues, men, women, Venetian gods appeared and disappeared until everything turned dark and cold. I inhaled fresh air.  
After some more steps the door of a car was opened and I was gently dropped on the back seats, the door closed. Shortly after that, the taxi driver entered as well.

“Sir, where are we going to?”

I licked my lips. They tasted salty from the sweat although I felt cold. The seats were covered with leather.

“Heartven Road...four...”

The engine was started and a journey through the night began. I closed my eyes and soon lost consciousness.  
When I woke up I felt cold again. Outside, night. I was carried to my room, up the stairs, through the door, lain down in my bed. The mask was taken off my face and I turned away in shame. Everyone of them had known who was behind that mask since I had just painted my face but not my entire body. No one else in Gotham wore a kind of skin that white.

A glass of water was put on the bedside table and the blanket was pulled over my chest. Then the driver left.  
I spent the rest of the night sleeping and waking, dreaming, sweating, shivering and groaning with pain. Not even the fall into the acid years ago had left me so fragmented; it had only brought out the best in me...or the worst, depending on my state of mind. One day, I thought of it as a godsend, the next time it seemed like a day when hell broke loose to get me.  
But this. This was profound hell and hell only.

 

________________________


	2. The marking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our hero decides to visit the Circle again and this time, he meets his master.

**The Circle  
Part 2: The marking**

 

I recovered only slowly. My mood had gotten worse, I couldn’t distract myself anymore; my thoughts were constantly circling around the same subject.  
And I knew that I could never have him. Thoughts of him and that rape in the castle took turns and both were just killing me. I was damaged goods, now not just mentally. I wouldn’t stand a chance against those high society first class girls he was always accompanied by. And even if he was into men as well he would never give me a chance.

It was my own fault after all, but I couldn’t but behave the way I just did when he was around. I had to sneer at him and grind his gear, I never thought much about it but just did it. Maybe it was just a means to keep me from acknowledging that I craved his attention and approval.  
Teasing is a sign of affection, some said.  
Desperately, I turned on the TV on the table to get a dose of brainwashing. It was late and they were showing the news. Bruce Wayne cutting some ribbon for some hospital for the poor. I turned off the TV and went to sleep.

During the next weeks, I ascended from the seventh to the second circle of hell, leaving the murderers behind and joining the sinful lovers. My appetite was still gone and my days were dull, mostly, I was spending them leaning on the sofa and looking out of the window. The days when I had been king of the streets now seemed like a farce to me. How could I have lost all that? What had happened in the chateau only was a symptom of my new illness.

There were even days when I could barely keep myself from harming myself with some kitchen knife or a razor blade. It was just pathetic.  
I had trusted them all, dressing up, going there and then I had been betrayed so shamelessly. By now, I wished that man hadn’t saved me from that rape at all. I dreamed of lying on that cold table, getting fucked, over and over again, ripped open, my guts spilling on the metal. I couldn’t think straight anymore; it started when I woke up and ended when I fell asleep, day by day.  
And I had run out of milk again.

Two months later a black envelope was lying on the floor. After recovering from the pang in my heart I took it with shaky fingers and opened it.

“Friday, 26th, 8 p.m.”

Joy and panic hit me at the same time. Until I was able to sort them out I sat down on the bed, staring at the sheet of paper.  
The Volto appeared in my thoughts. There were too many of them than to find this one again.  
Now that I had the chance to go there and get my brains fucked out of my head the way I had been dreaming of it I was unsure about it. If I saw those masks again I would just live through that trauma again and at that point, I wasn’t sure whether I wanted that at all.  
Especially the Bauta was giving me nightmares of the worst kind and there wasn’t one night when it didn’t hunt me down.

On the 23rd, my despair had reached such an intense level that I went out to get me another black tailcoat. I spent the night casting a new mask. A three-faced one, only that either of them was laughing and probably not even the third one.  
That was who I really was. They weren’t protecting me from the others and they weren’t allowing me to show my real self. The masks were my real self. I, who constantly was wearing a mask with red lips, black framed eyes and white skin, needed another mask to show my real self.

When painting the faces I cried.  
I resisted the urge to get up and slash my throat. Instead, I got up for a glass of water. After pouring a generous, a very generous amount of salt into it I drank it just to throw up instantly. I repeated that until I felt so weak that I could only crawl to the bed on all fours, leaving the mask on the table. Satisfaction claimed my mind for a short time but it was like holidays from the usual thoughts.  
That night, the Bauta met me again in a dark alley. Bathed in sweat I woke up and faced darkness.

I had had a similar feeling back those days when I dreamed of shady guys menacing me, pressing knives against my throat, asking for the money I owed them. Jack had had those dreams.  
In a sudden fit I got up, fetched a marker from a drawer and drew a smile on both faces of the mask. I had always been mastering the game of forcing myself to be happy and I wouldn’t back down now either.  
I sat down on the sofa and switched on the TV. After 10 minutes I had fallen asleep again.

The next day I ditched the mask and went to a toy shop to get me a blank white Volto mask since I had ruined the three-faced one during that nightly escapade. I didn’t do much more than sitting around on the sofa and trying to distract myself by painting the surface of the couch table in a checkerboard pattern of purple and black. In the evening of the 25th there was just a quarter of brown wood left but instead of finishing it I turned to the mask, cut off the mouth piece and poshed it up with a black and white checkerboard pattern.

On the 26th I started the procedure of turning into Jack right after getting up. However, this time, I wasn’t going to be Jack. I dyed my hair black and inserted white contact lenses. To top it all, I took a bottle of black ink and poured it down my chin and chest. It looked like I had thrown up black bile.  
Tasty.  
There wasn’t much more left than black and white in my world. Win or lose, sink or swim. I spent the rest of the day developing a new personality, a new ego state, a new identity which could take over when I needed it. I called it Joker.

I left the house at 8 p.m. and entered the taxi.  
I wouldn’t accept the drink this time. No way would I.  
As the flashing lights of the castle made me leave my imaginary world I pursed my lips. I had just been doing nasty things to him.  
The driver opened the door and I got out. After entering the chateau, a servant gave me the signal to follow him upstairs, which I did. Up there, he opened the first door and let me enter.

The room was lusciously decorated with golden stucco. In the middle of that baroque hell I discovered the black Bauta. He sat by his desk and invited me to sit down with a nod.

“Dear Sir,” he started, leaning back in his antique desk chair which was modern enough to give way for his comfortableness.  
I kept staring at him, furious at that sight. At this moment, I just wanted to burn down that castle but Joker took over.

“What do you want?” he said.  
I was surprised how calm his voice was. How serious, how unagitated. Mine always sounded low and shrill to me at the same time but that was the voice of a self-composed man whose silence and calmness only doubled the notion of danger surrounding him.  
I liked him.

“We are sorry to say that your start wasn’t a very good one-“

“Indeed.”

“And that this will never happen to you again.”

“How come.”

The Bauta leaned forward again.

“We do this when it becomes a necessity.”

I pressed my lips together in utmost fury and Joker pushed in: “What do you mean?”

“I cannot tell you, I apologize. You have to trust me that it has become a necessity.”

“Fuck you,” my usual self spat in his face and stood up but Joker hurried to save what still could be saved.  
“There are some owls here as well. I thought they were the highest in Gotham.”

The Bauta kept silence.

“I thought they ruled Gotham.”

“They do.”

“You are not part of them.”

“You are right, I am not part of them.”

Joker told me to shut up and to let him talk.

“They bow to your rules.”

“They bow to our rules because we don’t exist. This place, the street to this place, the taxis, the servants, the guests...nothing of that exists. We are a black hole in Gotham.”

Now even Joker didn’t know what to reply and I wanted to say something but he kept me from it by taking off the mask. I was shocked. How could he.

“ _I_ do exist. And I was mistreated. There is no excuse.”

I really started liking him.  
The Bauta didn’t bat an eye.

“You consented to our rules by entering. You could have asked any time, anyone.”

“What a bad excuse, you could have, you could have,” I mocked him by imitating him but yet again, Joker had something else in mind.

“That doesn’t help me anymore. I didn’t expect such cruel behaviour when I entered this house, especially not after this classy invitation.”

“Why have you come back, Sir?” the Bauta said without the slightest hint of a smile but I could just feel it.

I needed a moment to calm down because I knew that I had to think of a very good phrase now in order to still come out as the winner. To buy me some time, I carefully put on the mask again, plucked at my suit and cleared my throat.

“To make up for it,” I finally replied threateningly, turned around and left without any other word. I slammed the door shut and Joker generously granted me that moment of satisfaction before he took over again and made me head down the stairs in a slow and controlled manner. He was the man who acted against his emotions, I was someone who acted them out. He was the counterpart I needed.

When I had joined the circle in the hall I started looking for the Volto. I wanted to get past that mask and see what kind of man had saved me. It was pure curiosity.  
To my sorrow, I saw three of them and I couldn’t remember what kind of clothes my Volto had been wearing during the last evening. And he wouldn’t recognize me.  
Joker took that thought and threw it away. He made me stand tall and let a smirk appear on my lips.

The women came. I took the glass and emptied it. It was a different taste. While waiting for any effect to show I noticed two men collapsing. Both were too far away than to recognize any details. The men were carried off by the women and at the same time when they left the circle, a bunch of other men left the line to follow them. Suddenly, I felt disgusted. Even worse, disgusted to the point I had to gag, which only reminded me of the events of that night in a more physical way. Images of the laughing masks flashed through my mind and Joker desperately tried to catch hold of me.

And then, I felt it.  
It made me stand still and savour it.  
I had never felt such a kind of warmth before.  
Immediately, the images and feelings were gone and that one feeling filled my entire body, from toes to the tiniest neuron in my brain.  
Happiness. Liquid sextasy.  
The world was okay and I was okay. Something inside me felt like hugging the man to my left but I kept myself from doing that, swearing that I wouldn’t touch anything here but the Volto.

Yes, the Volto. I felt my dick growing.  
Happiness.

The woman in front of me smiled seductively. From the corner of my eyes I could see the men walking off with the girls; not all of them but most. The few who left their women behind met to leave the hall together. When I realized that only I and the woman were left I turned around to follow the men, leaving the woman behind.  
I went along the aisle with hundreds of doors leading to other rooms; some of them open and some of them closed, some of them with signs on them and some others painted in black.

Whenever I had the chance I peeked into the rooms with the open doors and always, I saw men fucking women, women fucking men, men fucking men, women fucking women, women torturing men, men torturing women, men torturing men and women torturing women.  
Live and let live.

With a nasty hard-on between my legs I headed for the end of the aisle where glass doors lead to the balcony. I went outside and to the balustrade. Looking down, I saw some individuals heading for the nearby forest.  
The night was cold and fresh but not too cold to catch a cold. All that effort for someone who eluded me finally. Certainly, he was there, but I had made sure to come as elusively as possible as well. There had been three Voltos.

Staring into the night at the spot where the forest and the blackness were melting into one single black hole, I felt disappointment welling up inside. Until now, I had not dared to admit to myself that I was just a coward. If I had been courageous enough to wear the same mask again he would have recognized me, but I wasn’t sure whether I still wanted that at all. In a mix of bitterness and frustration I unzipped my pants, took out my hard-on and pushed it between the columns of the balustrade. Whatever had made me do it, I immediately became aware of its potential and thrust forward.

Surely, I was the only one in this damp and raging hell who chose to fuck the castle itself.  
Just when I was about to decide whether to end this stupidity or shamelessly continue fucking the columns I sensed something behind me. I froze and waited for half a minute before I turned around.  
A man, dressed in black, his arms hidden by a large black cape, black hair and a simple, black Volto mask looked at me. The sting in my stomach told me that it was the one I had been looking for.

We stared at each other in silence. It was a creepy sight, the frozen face. Not even his eyes moved. Whoever he was under that cape, he must have left no stone unturned to find me and that told me that he must have had valuable contacts inside that castle.  
All of a sudden, he started to move and approached me. I was about to take a step back but my ass was pressed against the cold stone already. Nervously, I licked my lips and wished I could go through that stone and just drop from the balcony.

His hands appeared out of nowhere and I felt something cold on my neck. When he closed it I realized that it was an ordinary dog collar. Looking down, I also discovered the leash and just when I looked up again he turned around and pulled on it so that I stumbled and almost fell.  
My mind was blank. Speechless with shame, I followed him, catching everyone’s eyes we passed on the way. And that which I had feared would happen did happen, so I hurried to store my dick away again but another tug at the leash kept me from it and I stumbled on, collared and with my dick bouncing up and down in front of me.

I should have turned crazy from embarrassment but strangely enough, it wasn’t just embarrassment. Or at least my dick told me so by not backing down at all.  
It was the mask. Hidden behind it, I could be who I just was; I could do whatever I just pleased, I could behave the way I liked to and no one would ever judge me. Not that I gave a damn about other idiots’ judgements but after all, I was human and couldn’t defy the sweet taste of compliments or the bitter taste of criticism at all.  
Behind that mask, I could transcend Jack and Joker. I could be anyone, no need to explain myself, no need to be considerate, no need to be ashamed of anything.

As he kept dragging me through half the castle I worked on internalising that mantra.  
You are free. You can do what you please. No consequences.  
No consequences.  
No consequences.

Smirking, I stopped abruptly and pulled on the leash so that the Volto stumbled.  
You are free.  
Black flew through the air and he stared at me wide-eyed.  
You can do what you please.  
The next moment, my throat was squeezed so passionately that I had to cough, had I just been able to. No air would flow in nor out.  
No consequences.

Small slits stared daggers at me. I frowned, feeling familiar feelings welling up inside but then he closed his eyes. To hammer home the message, he squeezed even more fiercely for a second and then let go. Before I could recover he pulled on the leash again and I stumbled along, coughing and wheezing.  
I was confused. I wasn’t sure whether it was due to the fact that I had just accepted that without any comment or due to something unknown raising its mutilated head in a dark corner of my soul. A long time ago, I had locked that away. Unbridled, almost irrepressible. Tenacious. It had survived and only waited for the moment to be released again, then, when it was safe.

You are free. You can do what you please. No consequences.  
I understood the liberating effect of that mask now and why we had to wear it.  
Become the one you are.  
It stripped me bare of social conventions, self-doubt, awkwardness, inferiority complexes...and even fear. A powerful thing. Just a layer of paint and plastic.  
Free.

I closed my eyes and staggered along, indulging in this insight and the feeling it caused. This was who I really was, it felt right and it felt good. No need to smile, no need to cry, just me, disappearing, merging in the wideness of this world. An oceanic grin spread on my face while I enjoyed that moment of bliss.  
Free.

The Volto opened a black door, entered and pulled me in as well.  
The walls were painted black and in the middle, there was a small fountain, offering a soothing string of sounds. Blue lights were accenting the water.  
When I looked around I noticed that the sound wasn’t just coming from this fountain but that strings of water were continuously streaming down the walls as well. It was fascinating. Everything there was fascinating. To my astonishment, I could marvel at the world...again. I had lost that ability a long time ago but now, it felt so natural to see wonders in that room.

The Volto turned around and faced me. After a second of evaluating our position, so it seemed, he lifted a hand.  
Warm, gentle fingers lay down on my cheek, partly on my face, partly on the mask. Fear rose in me and I held my breath. They were resting on my skin, affirmatively, encouragingly. I pressed my lips together and was about to turn my head away when his other hand gently pressed against the back of my head, telling me to refrain from doing so.

A finger touched my lips. Black, lifeless lips.  
Black lips so full of life that they couldn’t bear it at all.  
Free.  
It traced along my lower lip, exploring it, the peaks and troughs. The magic of this moment let me stand still, my body and my mind unable to escape that charm. You can do what you please.

Remembering that, I lifted my hand and put it on the Volto’s. It came as a surprise, I could tell by his reaction. My reaction had spurred him; his fingers left my head and moved to the front where they started unbuttoning my shirt. I looked down, simply because I couldn’t believe it.  
The bleeding and suffering creature, mutilated by denial, roared inside me. Denied any food, and light and any attention, it had retreated to a safe place where I couldn’t reach it anymore, yet, where I couldn’t control it anymore either. The ties wouldn’t hold it back any longer.

One button was opened, two were opened. Panic seized me and at the same time, I tried to calm down, telling myself that I could do what I pleased without needing to fear any consequences. Projecting my fear into the mask, I managed to free myself from those unhealthy feelings and followed his touch as he proceeded with freeing me.  
When his hand touched my bare skin my muscles twitched, not familiar with being touched by someone else than me. It would have been embarrassing, had I needed to feel anything right now. But there was the mask, absorbing all negative emotions.

Fingers moved up my ribcage, slowly, feeling the little humps and valleys unfolding under their touch, up to my chest where they chose to rest on my hard nipple for a second before they started playing around with it, rubbing it gently, pinching it, caressing it.  
Like a statue, I was standing there, frozen in time, space and freedom. I allowed him to touch me. How could I?  
I was free.

Like a ghost, his fingers touched my skin, wandering across my back, up to my shoulder blades and down again, some of them moving past the waistband, teasingly rubbing my tailbone. I was shocked and mesmerized at the same time and maybe that mix was the most arousing thunderstorm of emotions I had ever experienced.  
The wounds started to heal and the blood dried. It left that cold and dark place in the back of my mind and stepped into the light to look at the world. How it had changed. When I had locked it away the world had been different, cravings had been different, needs had been different. And now, woken by someone I didn’t even know, it chose to enter that stage again and claim it.

My jacket and my shirt fell to the floor; chilling air served to harden my nipples even more. Undressed, but not fully, I started to feel doubt rising again but it was sent to the abyss of eternal freedom again when his fingers brushed over my lips and let me forget any shame.

He took the leash again and pulled me to a corner of that room where another smaller room was opening up. I hadn’t noticed that one at all due to the dim light, but now I could see it clearly.  
Candles illuminated a black painted chair. At first sight, it looked pretty normal, but it was different though: The backrest was curved and at the end of it there was a huge clasp. In the middle of the backrest, at the backside of it, there was a board with two more, yet smaller cuffs.

While I tried to think of a pose which would fit that seat I was turned around and the next moment, I found myself sitting on the chair. He made me lean back by pushing against my chest and so I did, still wearing my mask. It was the time I got aware of not having hidden my erection yet again, so I reached down to pull my pants over it but my arms were moved behind my back, the cuffs clicked and I found myself in that uncomfortable pose I had tried to think of before.

He pressed against my collarbone and I submitted to the pressure. He closed the collar around my neck and with that, I was rendered immobile. Panic made my cheeks burn and I attempted to rise but I couldn’t. I could lift my ass, but that was all. Blinded by chaotic feelings of fear, despair and pleasure I started breathing heavily until he pressed his hand against my mouth.  
With wide eyes I watched him savouring that sight. My dick twitched.  
Panic became pleasure and fear became trust.  
Free.

When he removed his hand I sucked in the air; it was cold and damp from the water around. He stood there in silence and looked at me until I became aware of my delicate pose as well. My chest bared, my throat exposed to him, my hands out of reach and my dick inviting him to do more of that shit.  
I gave a sound of pleased discomfort and shifted, my back aching already. No doubt he must have enjoyed that as much as I did. But he turned around and left.

When I was about to say something I stopped before pronouncing the first syllable, getting aware of the danger of revealing myself by speaking. So I had to watch him going away in silence, tempted to say something and held back by my pride. Or was it fear.  
The backrest still felt cold against my back and only worsened the pain. Slowly but surely, I was facing difficulties getting enough oxygen into my lungs to keep me of sound mind. The iron of the collar was mercilessly pressing against my windpipe and when I tried to take some pressure off my back I was paying for that with a lack of air.

Gasping, I felt panic taking over again; however, this time, it was different. A kind of despair, a kind of craving despair paired with hopelessness and hope at the same time. They were taking turns, I was hoping that he’d return soon and then again, I knew that he wouldn’t just untie me yet.

Despite the cold I started sweating. Breathing noisily, despair surfacing in my breaths, I moved my hands, trying to free myself from the cuffs but that only served to tear my skin and make me bleed. At that moment, he returned. A strange scent baffled me and when I found out which kind of associations it caused it was too late already. A disinfectant was spread around my nipple with a cloth and before I could protest at that he forcefully pushed the needle through my nipple.

The cry got stuck in my throat. A piercing pain made me arch up into the air, almost dislocating my shoulder. Nothing I had expected. But it wasn’t over yet.  
He pulled out the needle and replaced it by a small ring. I was concentrating hard on not screaming and I pressed my teeth together to keep me from cursing him. The pain didn’t fade at all. It was an uncomfortable kind of pain, sharp and pulsating.  
And then, it got out of control.

When he closed his fingers around my hard-on I moaned. The creature had found its way to my mouth finally and once unleashed, it didn’t surrender again.  
One word and he would have stopped.  
And no word left me. It took over and silenced me.  
The pain now paired up with the pleasure and I could let go, allowing myself to trust him.

His grip tightened and I contracted my muscles, making my dick twitch and pumping even more blood into it. This was ridiculous, this was unreasonable and absurd. But I wore a mask, hiding me, hiding my pleasure, hiding my reason and hiding my pride and nothing of that would ever be touched by what was happening when I was wearing this mask.  
His thumb was caressing the glans and I bit down on my lip to keep me from articulating my pleasure.

All of a sudden, cold air lay down on my dick again when his fingers left and I opened my eyes in greed. Just barely two hours and I was at the mercy of that stranger. It must have been the drink. Usually, I had difficulties letting my hair down and showing this side publicly but I blamed it on the drink and the mask.  
Another sensation which I had never felt before demanded my attention. Apparently, he was winding a string around my dick, stanching the blood flow. I closed my eyes and abandoned myself to the Volto again. His fingers left me alone again and I savoured the thrilling feelings my lower region gave me.

Yet, when nothing happened I opened my eyes again. He had waited for that moment.  
The whip hit me hard across my chest and I couldn’t suppress that scream at all. Blind with pain, I gritted my teeth and pulled on the ties again, to no avail. When I was still busy with digesting that first strike another lash hit me on my thigh. Hissing, I lifted my leg but it was no good; the next lashes went down on my abdomen and left me screaming. He didn’t hold back but he knew how to wield it; the chosen spots showed me that he did.

Another lash and I struggled for breath, the pain messing with my central nervous system and keeping me from inhaling. Tensing up didn’t help the pain at all, but I couldn’t do anything against it, it just happened. Then I started trembling, still unable to control my breathing. If I hadn’t been tied to that chair I was sure I’d have toppled over backwards now. My muscles ran amok and tensed up randomly, giving me the uneasy feeling of losing total control.  
I was free.

Gently, he touched my cheek and I bobbed my head, unable to make any well coordinated moves right now. The contrast of the harshness of the pain and his gentleness was killing me. I was desperately trying to sort out my feelings, focusing on the pain and then again on him caressing me. To top it all, my erection hadn’t calmed at all. It was still as hard as before, if not even harder due to the string wound around it.

He understood that I needed some time to figure things out and he spent the next minutes standing behind me and holding my face.  
Slowly, the first impact of the pain dwindled and I could see clearly again. The air was cold but I was sweating. The fact that I was still desperately trying to catch my breath must have unsettled him, somewhat, at least, because he opened the collar. The muscles of my neck ached terribly, but I had to move. I sat up and bent my head, exhaling loudly at feeling my muscles relaxing already.

At this moment, my greatest wish was to bend my back as well but he didn’t grant me that; my arms were kept tied to the board behind me. Silently, he appeared in front of me again. Mixed feelings claimed my mind and I pushed half of them away since they were pointless.  
I could do what I pleased.  
And so could he.

He bent down and finally took my shoes, socks and pants. I let it happen. His eyes rested on my pubic area for a moment until he turned around and gone was he again. Defiantly, I pressed my teeth together and prepared myself for a long wait again.  
I spent that time alone trying to relax and preparing myself for the next idea of his.

A few minutes later, he returned, dragging blackness and pleasure along. I was curious about the reason for his absence but he didn’t hesitate to show me. With a disposable razor, he started shaving my pubes. I couldn’t believe it. The way he did it told me that he knew how to handle that thing but I was too perplexed than to carry on with these thoughts and implications.  
Brown strands of hair fell on the floor until my pubes were gone.  
Never in my life I had thought of shaving them so the sight of this area being as smooth and hairless as a newborn unsettled me a little.

What unsettled me even more then was him continuing with my legs. I swallowed the words I wanted to say because I still was sure that he had no idea who I was. I had consented to the rules by putting on the mask, and not knowing where we were heading for just turned me on. Yet, having a man shaving my legs wasn’t exactly what I took for something arousing.

Steps.  
A tall man, dressed in black, wearing a simple, black Bauta mask appeared in the small room. He carried two glasses. The Volto hastily got up, stepped aside and turned around to face the visitor, exposing me.  
The shame made me blush; the Bauta knew who was behind that checkerboard mask; I had talked to him before. I didn’t want him to see me like that; tied to a chair, whip marks all over my body, shaved like a pussy and a dick still begging for more. I turned my head to the side and lifted a leg to cover my rebelling thing, somehow. The Volto noticed and with a quick move made his cape fall on my crotch and cover it.

A good master had to tend to the needs of...  
What?

“Please join us for the ritual in the seed chamber when you are done. We will be waiting for you,” the Bauta said. He made a step towards us, placed the glasses on the floor and then left. Wordlessly, the Volto knelt down to continue shaving my legs and I started to feel fear rising again. He ignored my growing nervousness and made sure he reached every single hair.

Which chamber? I wasn’t in the mood for some gangbang again. Panic rose from my subconscious, showing me the Zanni and the Bauta and I tore at the ties.  
Blood seeped from my knee. My agitation had made me twitchy and he had cut me. He kept ignoring me.  
When he was done he put the razor aside, took one of the glasses and approached me. Just when I thought that never on earth I would swallow that content he pressed his fingers against my cheeks and teeth so fiercely that I had to open my mouth.

The liquid was poured down my throat and I reached the next level of submission. Despair and devotion paired up and made me compliant. He would take care of me.  
The liquid had a bitter taste but I swallowed all of it without any protest. I wouldn’t do that for anyone else.  
He put down the glass, spread my legs, knelt down between them and made his cape cover his face and my dick. I saw him moving under the black fabric but I couldn’t tell what he was doing.

Only when I felt his lips closing around the tip of my dick I knew that he had taken off his mask. Weirdness, awkwardness and a stinging pleasure exploded in my crotch. I cocked my head and opened my mouth in a silent moan.  
I could do anything, wearing that mask, and anything could be done to me when I was wearing that mask.  
I twitched when he took me in fully, caressing the underside of my hard-on with his tongue. While he was keeping my mind busy with that he removed the string from my dick. Since I couldn’t see much anyway I closed my eyes and immediately, images of him sucking me off passed my eyes.

He, who was darkness.  
He was gently moving up and down, sucking me off by every trick in the book, using his hand as well to intensify the stimulation. I felt that I couldn’t make a stand against his teasing for long. Warm, slick bliss spread under the black fabric. I couldn’t hold back. The last time I had jerked off had been months ago and I was so close to the release that I couldn’t keep silence anymore.

My moans filled the dark chamber and he reacted to them, cupping my balls and gently squeezing them.  
That was more than I could take. The single word I hissed lay down on us like a warm blanket, connecting us. I came, tensing up and shaking in pure bliss. He swallowed all of it.

I had never emptied my urethra in a more pleasurable way and it rose a vile smile from me. Drunken with bliss, I relaxed my muscles and exhaled with a last moan.  
The cape disappeared behind him and I saw the Volto again. A vacant expression. Now I understood. Whatever he was feeling, the mask would take it.  
Free.

My arms were released; they had gone numb. There was no time for mercy; the Volto pulled on the leash and I got up, or at least I tried to in a pathetically clumsy manner.  
At a very smart pace, he left the room, dragging me along behind. I could barely walk, my muscles ached from the strain and I would have needed some minutes to recover from the best orgasm I had ever had but he didn’t allow me to. Still dazed, I couldn’t think straight and just did my best not to stumble and impede his plan, wherever we were going.

We passed doors, stairs, aisles until we headed down some winding stairs ourselves. The stones were so cold that it hurt since I was walking barefooted. Not to mention stark naked, except for the mask. An archway came into sight and we stopped. Expectantly, I searched for his eyes to tell what he was up, to but it was too dark to see any details; the few torches barely illuminated the stairs. He stepped behind me and took my arms to tie them up behind my back with a simple cable tie. Everything turned black when he blindfolded me.

I wasn’t sure whether I could take that. No doubt, I had proven to him that I trusted him, but that was a little too extreme for my taste and for that stage yet because now I couldn’t talk, see or do anything on my own anymore.  
What exactly was that ritual about? If the Bauta had come himself to invite us then shit was on the way. My thoughts found an abrupt end when I was pushed into the room behind the archway.

Full of fear and insecure, I stood there, waiting for something to happen.  
Whispers and murmuring. I felt so embarrassed, by now fearing that they would recognize me despite my mask and that attempt of making my skin look like it had been painted white. Maybe I should have spilled more ink on my body but it was too late anyway. While I was still debating on whether they finally knew who I was or not, firm hands accompanied me to a low platform.

Someone kicked the inner side of my knee joint and drove me to my knees. Then I was pushed forward and I gasped when a metallic bar collided with my thighs. My head was pushed down and the carabiner of the leash clicked. I didn’t need to see anything to imagine what this pose looked like. With my ass in the air and my head in the dirt, immobile, I was close to freaking out. Almost choking from panic, I tried to get rid of the cable tie but it was no use; it only made my wrists bleed again.

He wouldn’t betray me.  
The blindfold was removed. From down there, I saw men dressed in black, all wearing the same black Bauta masks. The man standing right in front of me wore a black Volto mask. A Bauta approached him now and gave him a ring which the Volto put on his left ring finger. A second ring was handed over and the Volto put it on my right ring finger. Watching and experiencing that somehow made me calm down a little. I wasn’t the center of attention and I wasn’t as outlawed as I had thought. I was under his protection.

The floor was cold and my knees started to ache already from kneeling on the stones but I had to take it, I had no choice.  
The Volto’s eyes met mine. I saw determination, mercilessness and passion. I was an eagle who was about to get his wings cut by an owner who loved his pet so much that he would never allow him to fly away again. That scared me. But it also flattered me. More than it scared me. Sometimes, it annoyed me how easily I could be figured out but if someone knew how to push my buttons I’d just enjoy the show.  
Then I just realized how humiliating it was to look up at him, smelling the scent of the stones under me at boot level. I was thankful that he had sucked me off before, otherwise they’d have witnessed my dick rising again.

One moment later all whispering and murmuring went silent. No sound was heard except the steps of a man coming closer. I tried to turn my head as much as I could to catch a glimpse of what was happening at my rear end. Another black dressed man had entered the room. He was carrying a long, thin stick. If that guy was about to beat me again I’d take that with ease, so I thought. He passed me and stopped in front of the Volto. When he lifted the stick I saw the end of it.

The tip of it was glowing in an unhealthy orangy red. My eyes went wide when I realized what this all was going to be about.

“No...”  
I couldn’t hold back and breathlessly whispered that word into the air.  
Heat spread on my cheeks and within a few seconds, I was dripping with sweat.

“No no no no no”  
Like a chant, the words left me, monotonously, out of my mind.

The man turned around and disappeared behind me. With begging eyes full of panic I pleaded for mercy but the Volto just watched me. I couldn’t tell whether he was drawing pleasure from my despair or whether he was feeling sympathy with me.

When the branding iron burned my skin I screamed until my lungs collapsed. The pain was so fierce and excruciating that it left no room for any other thoughts. Every cell of my body was busy with living through this and not giving up. In that haze of searing pain, hands reached for me and held my face. Another sensation added and I was unable to cope with this world any longer. I gave up and in. Wailing with pain, I surrendered myself to the situation and patiently waited for someone to untie me.

The Volto got up. He joined the other man behind me and shortly after that, a stream of strange sounds filled the room. Eventually, dazed with pain, I realized that he was jacking off and it didn’t take long until I heard the releasing moan.  
I hissed when he touched the branded spot, rubbing his semen into my flesh. As much as it hurt and challenged my very reason, it pleased me. Never had I felt such thorough pain. No thoughts, no feelings, no memories, just honest, existence-threatening pain. Wicked awesomeness.

I was released from my bonds and sank to the floor, sweating and breathing hard. Someone took care of the mark, patching me up, but it didn’t make the pain go away.  
The Volto took me on his arms and carried me away. The fabric of his clothes felt soft and smelled of lemon grass. He coated me with darkness and warmth. My cheek felt numb from the coldness of the floor but compared to the other feelings, that was just a minor problem.

Gently, I was put down on cushions. In front of me, the Volto undressed, shed his shell. A tall body with fine muscles wound itself in the dim light, like a snake, hypnotised by the moves of a courageous man. He bared all and it was a body you could show off with.  
Only the mask remained in place. With tired eyes, I followed every of his moves, watching him folding his clothes, lighting candles and finally coming closer.  
I would do whatever he told me to do; I was in a state of post-desperate willingness. If he told me to eat his shit I would have done that. Whatever it was...I had fallen into a strange trance.

But he didn’t demand any of that from me. He lay down and pulled me closer so that my head was resting on his chest.  
I just took what he gave me.  
Nothing of this all ever would have happened if I had gone unmasked.

For the first time, after I had fallen into that pool and had undergone that transformation into that white creature I had felt very self-confident, knowing that no one thought of Jack anymore when he saw me. I had the chance to develop a new identity, free to behave in any and every way and as time went by, some character traits settled and became a fixed part of my new identity and other traits got lost. Wherever I went, they labeled me as crazy. I had been studying many books and observed many men and based on that wisdom I had started to behave like them.

A whiff of the histrionic personality, a little melancholy, a good deal of schizophrenia and narcissism. The neurotic side hadn't been as much fun so I ditched it, yet I kept the positive aspects of it and made use of them when I was thinking up plans. In the end, I was so honest as to admit that in the course of time, my dissocial disorder had undergone some drastic change and turned into psychopathy. Granted, Jack had had some grave mental problems and the bleached version of Jack had adopted those, yet I had read up about these things and at least had gotten aware of them. During that process, I had realized that sanity could be learned and that the same held true for insanity.

As I was an outlaw then, not needing to pay any attention to anyone, I could freely develop a personality which I could have fun with and so I became what I was now.  
And though, what I was right now was something else. Behind that mask, I didn't need to keep up that personality. I had seldom made the experience of dropping it because usually, I felt at home in it and even fed it with paranoid lines of thoughts. I only dropped it when I felt totally safe and that was a rare occasion.

His fingers were combing through my hair, playing with it.  
Harley had often been doing that as well. Everyone thought she had left me for being such a crazy bastard when in fact, I had left her. I couldn't stand her being so pathetically dependent. Our personalities didn't match since I enjoyed taking advantage of people and she enjoyed being taken advantage of. The sane part of myself couldn't watch her falling deeper and deeper so I had left. I would have needed someone as domineering as I was, someone who would shout and yell at me and someone who wasn't afraid of telling me that this or that was a shitty idea. Not someone who idolised and glorified me. The part of my character which had deliberately gone mad needed someone like that and found that amusing, but I was more than that and my true self needed an equal partner.

Since I had left her I hadn't engaged in closer human contact at all because I was fed up with relationships. Of course, part of me craved attention but I twisted it around and deepened my histrionic side. After all, that was a healthy reaction to deal with that disappointment. The attention I received then went straight to the hungering sane self while on the outside, I displayed that pathological behaviour. I had been living on negative attention every since but now, I could let myself enjoy that positive attention. He stopped and let his fingers rest on my head. I wondered what he was thinking about right now.

_“Is that really necessary?“_

_“We have been watching him for a long time and we think it necessary. We have to break him before this can develop,“ the black Bauta calmly stated._

_“What do you mean by breaking?“_

_“It is not exactly breaking, because the Joker's will cannot be broken, only stretched. Trust us to take appropriate measures.“_

_“I'm not sure I can agree to that.“_

_“You are free to leave any time you please, Mr. Wayne.“  
The Volto replied nothing to that. He felt the cushions giving way as he shifted in doubt._

_“Trust us and he will trust you.“_

_“What will happen?“_

_“Some men agreed on preparing him for you.“_

_“What...preparing him for me?“  
The Volto's voice sounded irritated._

_“You can't make an omelette without breaking eggs.“_

_The Volto closed his eyes at hearing that. Nothing good had ever come from this sentence. He was wondering by now why he had acceded to this at all._

_“Don't rush things. Something like this takes time. Time, will and endurance.“_

_The Volto took a deep breath and got up._

_“So, are you in on it, Mister Wayne?“_

_“Yes. But I want to watch.“_

_The Bauta lifted an eyebrow._

_“If you stay in the background you can do so.“_

_“I will.“_

His fingers twitched and I reached for them to hold them in my hand. I was so tired and pain-ridden that this simple move almost sent me over the edge, losing consciousness. Such a small mark and such drama. Behind that mask, I really was a wuss, feeling pain doubly as much as I felt when I wore my usual white one.

_“Mr. Wayne, what did you think, butting in like that?!“ another black Bauta yelled at the Volto.  
Three of them were standing behind the sitting one._

_“Be quiet!“ the sitting one said, “Mr. Wayne, what happened?”_

_“This was beyond the pale. You said nothing about-”_

_“I did. I said we have to break him and it is what we did.”_

_“But not like that!”_

_“What did you expect, Mr. Wayne?”_

_He really didn't know what he had expected. But he knew that this wasn't what he had expected.  
“I thought...”_

_“Trust us. He is on the balcony now. You might want to pick him up.”_

_End of discussion. The Volto pressed his teeth together and stared at them in silent protest._

_“Mr. Sea will see you to the balcony.”_

_One of them suddenly came to life and escorted him out of the room. The Volto followed him to the balcony. The Bauta stopped at the glass doors and left him.  
It was dark and only some torches lit the place outside. A tall, black dressed man was standing by the balustrade, alone and forlorn. He felt a sting in his heart. How come he felt so much passion for him...or was it just compassion._

The Volto’s grip tightened and I tried to lift my head to look at him but gave it up. Whatever he was going through, it couldn't have been worse than my misery. I got back to savouring that rare feeling of closeness, glad that he didn’t interrupt me. Obviously, he was nervous too and maybe even thinking about leaving but I wouldn’t let him. I’d make myself feel so heavy that he wouldn’t be able to get up at all.  
And while trying to make myself weigh some more pounds I finally fell asleep.

 

____________


	3. The revelation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously: The Joker went back to the castle to meet his savior again. Without ceremony, the Volto took him along on the ride of his life only to watch him falling hard. Marked with a branding iron, at the end of his rope, the Joker was driven home, feeling more elseworldly than this-worldly.
> 
> Despite the painful events of their last meeting, the Joker now decides to join the next meeting as well, curious about the identity of that man. His question will be answered and he is not ready to accept that answer, fleeing from the castle and from that man in blind panic.  
> However, he cannot ignore his feelings and they drive him to distraction.

I woke up in mountains of soft cosiness again. The pillow seemed to swallow my head fully but that was the way I liked it. The blanket was pulled to my chin; the bed linen was purely made of cotton, tender silkiness. I was at home. And in the middle of this angelic comfort, my body was raging. However, I didn’t feel much of it; everything took place in a kind of haze, shrouding me in lightheadedness, denial and grey smoke. I was too weak to lift an arm and pull the blanket over my head. 

Dull stings of pain went through my body, up to my brain; or to be precise, electric impulses from sore skin went to my brain to be turned into what I knew as pain. How fast it was moving, losing no time, being there almost simultaneously, fired off and there already, that must have been the wormhole I had always been searching for…strange images passed in front of my eyes, my feelings changed and I consciously experienced myself falling asleep again.

The next time I woke up I could see things more clearly, also because the sun had come back as well. Shyly, and still weak, but at least, that asshole had come back to the sky. Nice of you to drop by. Just that I got no milk for you, I’ve run out of it again.  
Almost drifting back into sleep, I got a grip on myself and sat up. All at once, one fast movement. And I regretted that.  
Was it that I couldn’t take the pain anymore? It had just been some whiplashes and a branding; the Bat had broken my ribs twice sometimes and I still was able to laugh at him and now I could barely move. 

They had drugged me and I was unable to cope with the effects, mentally and physically speaking. I could have told them, had they asked me, but of course, it was too late. The chemicals were in my system and working their way through. Maybe I could catch some of the sun’s rays and add them to the coffee if I was short of milk again. I sighed and crossed my arms in front of my burning chest. That way, I’d never get past the milk. Why had it to be milk at all. Didn’t I prefer my coffee without milk? I wasn’t sure anymore. Maybe it would help if I collected the rays from the floor and tried to get them into the cup.

I heard a cracking sound coming from behind me, right behind my head, barely a centimeter away. Blinking, I realized how glad I could be that it wasn’t inside my head and just behind me. Someone had spilled the milk on the floor. An idiot. When I was so short of it again. Maybe it would help-

I got up and stumbled to the window to open it, feeling sick. While I was desperately trying to open it I could feel my stomach rebelling already. I breathed in the fresh air and bent over to throw up. After I was done trying to get rid of something which had never been inside me I turned around and sank to the floor.  
Blast it, it had been worth it. With tears in my eyes from the gagging, I examined my inner thigh. Bandages were wound around it. I wouldn’t explore that now. There were more important things to take care of, like the milk.

With shit in my head, I got up just to fall down on the sofa again. What a ride. I’d need some hours to get it all together again but I had plenty of time.  
I just hoped that the sun wouldn’t disappear before I could get my milk.

 

___________________ 

 

Eventually, I got back to straightness again. It took some time. And by then, the bandages had dissolved already and were scattered across the bed and floor. I had no memories as for that incident when I must have removed them but all I could do was just accept it.  
The first time I took a look at the mark it unsettled me to an uncomfortable extent. I wasn’t used to such things and I wasn’t familiar with such practices. As I said, I had always been an open-minded person, but that went beyond some cheap plastic ties and blindfolding in bed. 

I had not consented to this.  
Had someone asked me before doing that I would have laughed at him in disbelief, not believing that he actually was serious. How could they force that on me? Was that legal at all?  
Just then I remembered my street actions which weren’t of any considerate nature either. I pressed my lips together and carefully touched the mark. It was still sore and I drew back, triggering another round of pain. 

On the other hand, where would have been the thrill if I had been asked. Though, I wanted to know whom I was married to now. Somehow, I doubted that I would ever find out, but for now, I had other things to worry about. The mark was barely healing, still weeping.  
Wounds usually healed on their own; I didn’t have to take care of them at all and maybe they were healing so exceptionally well because I didn’t give a shit about them. Countless scars were spread across my body and I had never cared about them since I regarded that body just as a means to exist in this world and walk around there.

I knew that I had to change this opinion since from now on, this body would be the link between us, a kind of device, playground and platform for our feelings.  
Was I getting sentimental? It was embarrassing. Yet, I had come so far.  
Although the mark wasn’t healing well I could recognize the shape of it already. It was a W.  
W for wussy. W for winner. W for wacko. W for who. W for waif. W for wait a minute.  
W for Wayne.  
No, it couldn’t be that easy. Considering the luck I had been having till this days I barely dared to think of that name.

I turned on the TV for some news to empty my head and sat down. Too much going on inside of which I didn’t want to know a darn thing.  
As I leaned back I felt a stinging pain on my chest. When I looked down it struck me like lightning. He had pierced my nipple.  
Whenever I had seen anyone with metal going through body parts which shouldn’t contain any metal I had felt disgusted and now I was one of those freaks. I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed. No, I didn’t want to remove it. Not now. Not at all.  
Imagining him playing around with it, pulling on it and teasing me felt too good.

A loud fanfare made me look at the TV. And what a surprise, for the sixtieth time, I saw Bruce Wayne introducing a new program at the Gotham hospital. Too lazy than to get up and change the program and too tired of lions eating up gazelles, I stayed on the sofa and watched him holding a glorious speech. That man was a stranger to me, I didn’t know him at all, always on the news, like an arrogant snob, spending money on expensive things and then again, contributing to various funds and donating crazy sums to children with cardiac insufficiency and whatnot. 

What a bugger. My eyes wandered to the right upper corner of my vision where they desperately tried to kill the feelings welling up inside. Realizing that this didn’t help at all, I took the remote control and changed the program.  
I watched cops arresting stoned youngsters, both parties hitting each other and-  
I turned off the TV.

Something grew rampant. The silence offered the space and time for it.  
He looked good in his suit. In all objectivity, a handsome man. Angular face and though, delicate features. Black hair neatly combed back and a strand saucily draped over his forehead.  
He turned to look at me and I looked away.

 

One month later, I got ready for the evening again, eagerly waiting for the taxi to pick me up and drive me to my number one pastime. Curiosity killed the cat.  
With every visit, the drive seemed shorter and shorter and by the time we arrived I was hard already. Ready for the next great show, I entered the castle and lined up, waiting for the woman to pass me. I didn’t look around; I would wait for him to introduce himself to me.  
When everyone had left there was only another masked man left in the hall. A black Volto.

Without looking at me, he left the hall as well and I followed, getting mad at his ignorance already. But that only served to harden facts even more.  
This time, he lead me into a smaller hall with a little buffet at the center. Part of that was a long row of glasses filled with champagne. He took two and gave me one. I was impatient and wanted to start playing, the thing which I had been waiting for 30 days, but he was into teasing me this time. I looked straight into his eyes to decipher his feelings but he would cork them up and show me shrewd eyes.

I emptied the glass within a second only to be given another one. As a sign of protest, I emptied that in one gulp as well. A third one followed, then he seemed content.  
He had not leashed me this time. Of course, I was wearing the collar but he didn’t seem to be interested in that tonight.  
Looking around, I saw various couples lying on cushioned couches, sitting in luscious leather chairs or using the furniture in some other ways. While I was still discovering new ways of entering a body I fell the victim to a fit of dizziness. It had come out of the blue and left me on my knees, shaking and disoriented.

I didn’t know what was happening to me; all I knew was that I felt sick, dizzy and seriously horny. Breathing hard, I looked up at the Volto who was looking down at me. I swore I could see the wrinkles framing his eyes. Clearly his fault.  
He turned and attempted to leave the hall without me but I reached for his cape and pulled him back. I couldn’t get up now. I bent my head, staring at the floor, tracing along the tiles, trying to distract myself from these nasty feelings.  
A gloved hand closed around my throat and lifted me up. Well, if he didn’t want me to sit there in a puddle of goo right now then I had to comply. He turned around and headed for the door and I did my best to catch up with him. 

We left the hall and stopped in front of a closed door with a black sign. He turned the sign over; the other side was red. Without any knocking or any word, he opened the door and stepped inside. And whatever it was, I had to follow.  
Darkness embraced me and what I felt next were hands working on my shirt buttons. Dumbfounded, I froze and tried to look for some hint of light but there wasn’t any, not even the door crack shed any light on the floor. His hands didn’t stop until I was naked yet again and then I heard the sounds in front of me. Apparently, he was undressing as well.

While he was getting rid of his stuff I saw the chance coming to serve my hunger and jack off. I unbuttoned my pants and dropped them, greedily reaching for my dick. He wouldn’t notice if I did it in silence. Something slapped me in the face and I stopped, looking around, yet seeing nothing. How could he see anything and I couldn’t?  
The next second, I was pressed against the wall, feeling his breath hitting my cheek. I licked my lips in delight, feeling his hard-on pressing against mine.  
Mine definitely was larger and throbbing more desperately than his. 

After having managed to wriggle myself out of his iron grip I reached down and took matters into my hands. Whoever he was, I was going to have fun with him. It didn’t matter whether he was the mayor, a bank clerk or an owl, hard flesh was hard flesh and his kisses were just giving me the thrills. Inner values had always been more important to me than any outside superficial stuff. I snorted, amused at that thought, and squeezed his dick.

His body jerked and I moaned against his neck when I felt my dick touching his. No doubt, he was as hard as I was. Though, still, mine was larger.  
Quivering flesh, filled with joy, ready to burst. So close, and I wasn’t allowed to. His grip tightened around my wrist. I gave him a short laugh but again, he flexed his muscles and I moaned with pleasure and pain at the same time. Maybe it was even the same.

Determined to not bow down so easily this time, I reached into the darkness, feeling his ribcage under my fingers. I dug my nails into the skin and drew a gasp from him as well.  
Yes, I was his slave, but that didn’t mean that I had to submit myself so easily any time he just asked for it. But that was just what he wanted, as I realized, when he rammed his fist into my stomach so that I went down on my knees, wheezing and coughing.  
To be honest, I loved it when he went brutal on me. 

Now, at this moment of losing myself, I could admit it. Whenever I had come up with plans I hoped I would catch his attention so that I would find him standing behind me, waiting for me to turn around and take out my knife to fight him. He would always try to defeat me without hurting me seriously, I could rely on that; yet, sometimes, he gave me a pretty hard time, leaving me in a state of lightheaded pleasure when the pain dragged me to my knees. I loved that. Yes, I loved that, shamelessly admitted.

Here, it was different. The pain was the same, no matter whether that masked man did that to me or whether the Bat did it, but the feelings which went along with that were different.  
Or were they...  
Still recovering from the last blow I cleared my throat and lifted my head, fully aware of the height at which his erection must have been levitating in the air. To wit, just in front of my mouth.

It was silent; he didn’t move and I didn’t move. I felt that he was waiting for me to do something, awaiting my actions which would show him about my current feelings.  
Suddenly, it felt like I was topping instead of serving him. He was at my mercy now. And I really appreciated that. I took a deep breath, aiming at exhaling just against his dick and I waited for a reaction but he remained completely silent. 

So silent that I started doubting whether he still was there at all. I knew that from the Bat, once he was there, you turned around and he was gone without you noticing any of that.  
Tentatively, I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue. It touched something soft. Now I heard a sound, followed by a feeling like being short of air again. His fingers were closing around my throat again. Apparently, he didn’t like that too much, being at my mercy and though, he had been provoking me into that action.

Despite his grip, I tried to close my lips around the tip of his dick again and when I managed to do so he immediately let go of my neck. Playfully, I traced along his glans with my tongue, cautiously touching his inner thighs, fondling his muscles and teasing his balls with seemingly unintended touches.  
Something hit the floor beside me. Continuing with my torture, I reached down and felt for that thing on the floor. When I had found it I stopped for a moment.

It was his mask.  
I looked up, seeing nothing, still. But I wanted to see something.  
So I got up and brought my hands to his face and he immediately tried to block me but I pushed his hands away and felt for his features. While I was busy trying to figure out who this was he boldly removed my mask as well. I froze.  
After some moments of painful silence something touched my lips. 

He leaned in and gave me the most sensual and longest kiss of my life, licking my lips, exploring my mouth with his tongue and gently pulling on my upper lip.  
I could feel his breath on my mouth when he drew back, only that much to not have our lips touching anymore.  
We spent minutes in silence, thinking, enjoying that precious experience and being close to each other.

Suddenly, he took my hand and pulled me behind him, then made me take two step towards the wall again. After some fumbling in the dark I could tell that he was facing the wall now and I was facing his back. He reached for my dick and pulled on it so that I had to comply. It touched his ass. I didn’t know anymore whether he was the slave or I and who was dominating whom.

“Are you kidding me,” I whispered into the dark, lowly enough so that the words wouldn’t reach him.

He pulled on my dick more forcefully again and I then knew that he wasn’t kidding. The thought of shoving that thing up his ass almost made me cum already. That was too good to be true.  
I wetted my fingers with my spittle and tried to stretch his ass. No problem at all. Very carefully, I pushed forward, lucky enough to find his entry at the first attempt. My dick was so hard that it smoothly enter his ass, but I knew enough about that all to be patient and wait for him to accustom himself to this feeling.

I leaned forward and braced myself against the wall because my thighs were shaking already. It was then when he moved backwards, showing me that I could continue and so I did, pushing half of my dick in.

I heard him gasping at that. He would need a minute again.  
Impatiently, I was hopping from one foot to the other, trying to keep myself from coming just at the mere feeling of being inside his ass. That was the moment when I wished I had a string to wind it round my dick the way he had done it the last time; yet, while I was living through that extraordinary bliss of last time again he moved and showed me that I could go on.

I buried my fingers in his massive neck musculature and fucked him hard. Every time I entered him again my balls slapped against his ass which made it even harder for me to hold back. The sound of it, the feeling and the imaginary image of that were such a tease.  
I stuck my fingers inside his mouth and he let it happen, licking and sucking them.

When I was about to come I bit his neck so hard that he screamed.  
I stopped for a moment, processing the information given to me. My reality got disrupted in the most horrid way. Abruptly, I was pulled back down on earth when he gentlemanly reminded me to continue by reaching behind him and pulling me closer again.  
I swallowed down that insight and continued to fuck him into orgasm. Pretending to enjoy it as much as he did, I moaned and let my hands wander down his body while he came.  
There...  
His right flank was covered with scar tissue.

Immediately, I drew back and took some steps back into the dark. I remembered that incident very well when the bomb had exploded right next to him. That was the proof.  
Why hadn’t I noticed that when he had undressed in front of my eyes a month ago? I couldn’t blame myself; I had basically been out of order that night.  
I could hear him panting in front of me. While I tried to calm down I took some more steps back until I hit the wall, then I headed left till I felt safe. As well as he just could see in this darkness, there was no way he could see me now.  
Silence and darkness weighed down on me. Sticky, warm and threatening, but I would not give in. I bit down on my lower lip and waited for him to search for me, turn on the light or say something, whatever it was but he had to do it.  
I was done with him.

Suddenly, I felt a hand touching my chest and I freaked. With my heart racing, I stumbled past him towards the opposite wall. Fumbling for the door in the dark, I felt panic numbing me. It was a feeling like in my nightmares. They were coming for me, I had to run, but I knew that they were following me and when I turned around I could see them turning the corner, still chasing me. Nowhere to hide, they would always find me, I knew that. This irrational fear, it was the worst of all feelings.

Stricken with terror, my shaky hands slid over the walls to catch hold of a doorhandle. By now, I was hyperventilating and I knew that this would tell him exactly where I was and that served to worsen my panic even more.  
Heavens, when I had finally found the handle I pushed it down and ran. The light was blinding me, but I just ran, arms stretched out to not collide with anything. Running, just fleeing, down the corridor, up some stairs, turning left, straight then left again...into the middle of nowhere. 

I stopped when I had found a place where I was alone. It was a small bar, the walls painted in black, no people there. Coughing from exhaustion, I entered the room and let myself fall into a leather chair.  
Desperately, I tried to not think of him coming through the door. It would have freaked the living daylights out of me if he had followed me and would enter this room now as well so I concentrated on thinking of something else.  
Like, my mask. It was gone. Left in the darkroom. Darn it. People had seen me passing, hard and unmasked, waving my hands around like lunatic. What a show. Other people paid for something like this.

Still out of breath, I started sorting out my thoughts. Putting one and one together I concluded that this man, hidden by a black Volto mask and imperious manners, necessarily had to be the Bat.  
I didn’t know whether I was lucky or the most pitiful man on this planet right now. It was pure humiliation of a different sort, getting owned by one’s nemesis. The golden stucco of the bar caught my eye. Wasn’t that what I had always been...no, there was no other word for it, as much as I tried to find one...longing for. My heart skipped a beat every time I noticed him around and it felt the same way when the Volto was around.

I had not let anyone get closer in my life but these two. Maybe Harleen had managed to take a glimpse of this as well but apart from her there was only these two, or that one man.  
And no one would ever know. I wouldn’t need to justify myself. I was free to embrace him since all of us wore masks. I would simply box my identity for that time being and meet him as someone equal. Not as an enemy, not as a friend, not as a servant. But, something else. I just refused to use that word, still.

My thoughts were going round in circles. Things had just fallen into place for me. Yet, was that the only way we could come closer? It had to be; on the streets we were fighting tooth and nail against each other, showing off our pretentious, bloated egos and perpetuating the traditional circle of good and evil, not aware of how much we needed each other. For a long time, I had not noticed, fighting him with pleasure, though, but never looking behind that. During the last year, I had started to feel anxious about our meetings. I was a man of spontaneity, but something like stage fright had been seizing me for quite some time now when I got ready for the nightly crimes.

I had dismissed it as the fear of things going wrong and making a fool of myself like when I had been performing as a comedian plus a lack of mental hygiene, never considering the real reason behind it. Too humiliating, too far-fetched.  
I heard steps coming closer and prayed that it wouldn’t be him.  
A black Bauta entered. Wordlessly, he stopped in front of me and put a mask on my thighs.  
A Joker, decorated with golden ornaments. Whatever I did, I couldn’t escape my role. I had tried so hard only to be forced back into it again. Sighing, I put it on and he disappeared.

Strange feelings lay in that mask. I felt at home there.  
Like in a lucid dream, having fallen into a bizarre kind of trance, I got up and left.  
Somehow, I made it to the front doors of the castle and stepped outside, still naked. Some moments later, a taxi stopped in front of me and I got in.  
He drove me back to my flat, saying no word. I got out there and climbed the stairs to my room. After closing the door behind me I went to the sofa and sat down.

The world had changed. Life had returned. It was everywhere, in every drop of water, in every fibre, in every cell, so intense. I hadn’t felt so alive for months, years anymore. This intense feeling of taking part in this game, in this world again made a single tear stream down my face behind the mask. I couldn’t tell what I was feeling, I really couldn’t. All I knew was just that it was intense.

I leaned back and lay the tip of my finger on my dick. Still hard. No wonder. Three of those drinks were sufficient to keep it hard for days. And I had concentrated so hard on not coming before him. Now I had carried it home with me.  
Thinking of his scars I rubbed the glans between my thumb and forefinger.  
That was Bruce Wayne, Batman.

I stopped, feeling oddly ashamed suddenly. But he wouldn’t see me; he’d never see me and we would forget that it was me and him.  
Bruce Wayne showed up in his suit with an empty smile, cutting a ribbon, opening a hospital. I closed my eyes and fingers round my dick. No one would take him from me and not even I would take him from me. I was starting to live a life behind that mask, more than I was living with that green hair and red lips by now.  
Bruce Wayne entered the hospital and signed some papers.  
And how he signed them.

I started pumping frantically, giving myself something more concrete to enjoy.  
Bruce Wayne took a glass of wine and sipped at it. Some wine dripped from the edge of the glass and hit his fingers. He looked down at them, absentminded.  
I bent forward in bliss.  
His eyes wandered across the floor, searching for something.  
Close to orgasm, I slid from the couch, down on the floor. I wanted to prolong it and savour that state.  
Bruce Wayne looked up again, directly at me.

I moaned when I came, semen splashing against the leather. Iced eyes, glistening in a warm bluish brown, were fixed on me. Bruce Wayne looked at me.  
Panting hard, I collapsed, letting myself fall to the floor, sticky, warm cum everywhere. Everything was spinning around me; colours, materials, emotions, thoughts. Nothing would ever be the same.

And in fact, I was sick of the same.  
Every day, trying to think up something which could or would catch someone’s, anyone’s attention, doing everything just to be noticed, making a fool of myself – Oh, my mistake, that gun is the wrong one again! when I know exactly that when I will pull the trigger on this one just a little flag with the word “BANG” will show up. No, I was sick of that. It was beneath my dignity and it seemed like I had just rediscovered that dignity.  
Funny, behind a mask.

I sighed and wiped my fingers clean. Could I talk of dignity at all under these circumstances, having someone I hadn’t even known branding and fucking me? But maybe that was the thrill of it. I could decide what I wanted to do with my dignity and whom I allowed to cross the line. At least, he let me cling to that illusion, the Bauta, when he asked me why I had come again if that had been such a terrible trip the first time. So why had I come again? Was I just another vulgar masochist? In the end, it didn’t matter what I was as long as it pleased me.

At that moment, I wished he had given me something along to enjoy. Some bruise, some aching bone, some scratch, some mark. Barely knowing him, I had already fallen for him. What I had been dreaming of for a long time in secrecy had finally become true. And still, I had difficulties accepting that for real. After all, I was a mere thought, so I had told my first love when she had followed me down the motorway, stopping me with the bike and asking me to love her back.  
Just a mere thought. An idea. A concept. Beyond humanity. A mere thought.

A lonely thought.

A thought which was dying for a second one.  
I had deprived myself of my humanity because I was afraid of it. Love scared me more than a gun pressed against my temple ever could.  
Well, did it have to be love? We could stay fuckbuddies, fingering each other into bliss every month. We didn’t need any love there.  
Part of me knew that that was just bullshit.  
Maybe I was just overthinking it. I got up and went to bed.

The next morning started with a hangover. I would never get used to those aphrodisiacs. Headache and a dry mouth made me stay in bed till the afternoon sun shone into my room. And again, I had forgotten to get the milk. Cussing, I got up, got dressed and finally got me some.

Days went by and every single day I woke up with him on my mind.  
I could just drive to his mansion and say Hello. But then again, that wasn’t an option at all. In this life, we weren’t related to each other in any respect. In this life, I was the criminal and he was the one hunting that one.  
That served to make me crave him all the more. To approach him in a fine restaurant of his, wearing a neat suit and introducing myself to him, people around us panicking because it is the Joker, after all.

I was wondering whether he was feeling the same, missing me. “Missed me?” would be the first thing I’d ask him as soon as I had found my voice.  
My appetite hadn’t returned yet either; it had dwindled even more but not due to despair or boredom. Whatever I did, I did it with him. Going for a walk, getting milk, showering or decorating the walls with small black rhombs.  
It wasn’t love. I was just longing for him.

And then, when the invitation finally was lying on the floor again my heart sank to my boots.  
Had he been missing me during this time? I bit down on my lip and a strange feeling made its way through my soaked mind.  
I wouldn’t go there.  
If he had been missing me he surely would show up again and thinking of him waiting there for me, in vain, made my heart beat faster. I was a bloody sadist, as much as I was a masochist. Bruce Wayne, standing in line, being the only one left without a partner. A pang in my guts told me that I definitely had to try my hand at topping one day as well.

 

On that day, the Volto entered the castle the way he always did. Anxiously, he walked down the corridor to the hall, fearing what he would see there. He wasn’t afraid of him being there; he was afraid of him not being there.  
With his head bent and eyes glued to the floor, he joined the circle. He didn’t dare to look up and search for him. Minutes passed in silence until the women came. His nervousness grew. 

The woman in front of him wore her hair red. She was beautiful, like all the other escort ladies, but her beauty didn’t move him. He took the drink from her and when the couples started leaving the hall she left on her own. Men crossed the hall, greeting each other and leaving together.  
He clenched his teeth, realizing that he was left alone. His fiancé wouldn’t come. Desperately, he remained standing there, waiting. Maybe the taxi was late. Maybe it had broken down. 

 

In the meantime, the taxi driver knocked on the door of Heartven Road.  
I knew who it was and I opened, naked. The man didn’t bat an eye.

“Sir, are you not going to join us tonight?” he asked.

I licked my lips and opened the door some more to let him enter. 

“Have a seat,” I said dryly, disappearing in the kitchen to get a bottle of wine and two glasses while he sat down.  
Expectantly, he watched me opening the bottle and filling up the glasses.

“You know...”  
I didn’t know how to continue.  
I sat down and sipped the wine instead. Looking around the room I noticed the tailcoat lying on the bed. I had put it there in case I decided to go though.

“I know who it is.”

Quite unimpressed, the man sipped his wine too and kept looking at me. When he realized that it was his turn to say something he straightened his back and put the glass on the table.

“Sir, half of our guests know each other. It doesn’t matter. When they put on their masks, they don’t know each other anymore.”

“Is that so.”

“I would advise you to accompany me to the castle. Your Master surely is waiting for you already.”

I felt a bout of defiance welling up and something else coming to life as well at that word he had used. 

“What if I find that I can’t...serve him.”

“Our heads know their business and the people they are inviting. You should trust them to know what they are doing.”

“Who are they?”

“I cannot tell you”

Well, it was worth a try. I took the glass again and felt more confused than before.

“Sir...”

I jumped from the sofa, enraged at the fiftieth ‘Sir’ and objection this evening and yelled at him, “WHAT?!”  
It was easy to unsettle me tonight. I was on pins and needles, missing that man so badly that I wouldn’t admit it to myself at all, feeling ashamed of such a kind of dependence. 

“May I tell you something?”

I lifted an eyebrow to show him that I pretended to be curious.

“I don’t know you, not in the way they do, but I can tell that you are having troubles. I understand that it is a shock to get to know who that is behind the mask, but I think you should give him another chance. I am sure he would do the same.”

“Fuck you, you think you can get me with that? He would do the same, huh?”

“Sir, I’ll be waiting downstairs.”

Before he got up he emptied the glass and then left the room.  
I was at a complete loss as to what to do. He had just left. Idiot.  
Idiots. I was surrounded by masked idiots. And I? I was just in the middle of them, idiots. Head of the idiots. Head of fools.

Close to tears, I sat down on the sofa.  
Torn between pride, doubts, fears and longing, I had another glass of wine, trying to sort out my feelings. I was afraid of him. He knew that I knew who he was. And I was sure that he knew who I was. How could he have consented to this? Certainly, the Bauta had instructed him about his plans to pair us up and he had just agreed on it? Paired up with his nemesis? How desperate must he have been? 

But his longing was the card I was having up my sleeve. Surely, he was waiting there for me already. At my mercy. I would let him wait.  
And there it was again, those bonds. Whatever I did, whatever I thought, it was always about emotions tied to him. Whether it was me feeling pleasure at the thought of letting him wait or me craving for his impossibly delight-serving dick worming its way through my bowels, it was always about him.

I took the glass and threw it against the wall. It burst into millions of shards, scattered on the floor. Inflamed with rage, I got up and disguised myself. The driver of the taxi slightly pursed his lips in amusement when he saw me stomping towards the car half an hour later. I said no more word. Seething with rage, I watched the streets flying by, people passing, traffic lights turning red and green...until it started fading.  
A pleasant kind of emptiness took its place and I managed to relax, unclenching the fist I had kept closed until now.

I wasn’t a concept. As much as I pretended to be, I wasn’t.  
After a long time of solitude, pain and agony, someone cared about me again. I would have been crazy to dismiss that. Sometimes, it was hard for me to shake off that insane personality I was displaying for the fun of myself and others and to return to what I was, what I hid behind that layer of a broad grin and silly laughter. I kept it safely stored in the back of my mind and always made sure I would find the way back to it again, back home. Back home to Jack.

Not the Jack who had died that night in the acid, not the Jack who had licked their boots and not the Jack who had always been serving others to survive.  
That Jack who was human. Intelligent, creative and pure. Untouched, yet surrounded by walls built of self-doubts, abuse and mistreatments.  
Jack was there, cowering, crying, waiting to be freed. I knew he was there, I had always been feeling his presence.  
I looked up from my thoughts as some lights flew past me.  
Could he accept him?  
Could he possibly have glanced at him during a moment of heedlessness?

Until now, I had always been regarding Jack as a pitiful loser, neglecting his brilliance. He had just reacted to the world’s treatment and turned into what he had been, but under the surface of this layer of rubbish and pain, he was brilliant.  
And worse, lovable.  
No wonder I had locked him away and grinned at everybody widely who showed any sign of affection.

I couldn’t tell anymore who was behind this mask tonight. Anyway, since everything felt like wearing a mask lately, I had decided to go without and paint my face instead. It didn’t matter anymore anyway.  
When the castle came into sight my heart started racing. This was Jack. Jack getting nervous about another man’s feelings, Jack worrying about being fit for a lover at all, Jack...just that Jack who had died that night. The Jack which I really needed now had to step out of the dark and claim the stage.

 

With slow steps, the Volto left the hall.  
Completely alone, just a distant, whispering moaning flooding the hall and echoing from the walls. He went down the corridor, opened the glass doors and stepped outside. In front of him, the vast blackness of the surrounding woods greeted him silently. He took a few steps towards the balustrade and stared into the darkness, trying to see some light, and if it was just a tiny one...but there was none. No torches lit the woods, no stars lit the sky.  
Forgotten, damaged and lost.

 

The taxi stopped in front of the entry and the driver got out to open the door for me.  
In serene calmness, I got out of the car and took the stairs towards the large doors of the castle.  
I trusted him. If he was so sure about that all then I had to accept it and not question it.  
As long as he would love me I would trust him.

The driver accompanied me up the stairs and opened the huge castle door. I entered and stumbled straight into the arms of the chief Bauta. Like a statue he stood there; how long must he have been waiting there for me? I clenched my teeth and got myself ready for a dressing-down, which I knew I had to endure after this. His status was higher than mine. I hated him for that since not even any judges, nuthouse CEOs or popes were of higher rank than I. Defiantly, I halted in front of him and boldly glared at him. 

“Your driver informed me that you were facing troubles,” he remarked coldly.

I remained silent, waiting.

“He said that you know of the identity of your Master.”

I still said nothing and he took a step towards me, leaning forward until his face was just a foot away from mine. His voice sounded even more muffled when he talked now.

“Be advised to keep your mouth shut outside these walls. We get to hear about the tiniest leak of information concerning this topic and we will hunt you down and you know that we are capable of this. We will deal you electric shocks to fry your brains crispy and then we will perform a lobotomy on you so all you can do from then on is slobbering and farting in a moist corner of the cellars of this castle, never seeing the light of this pretty world again.  
Got me, Mr. Joker?”

My eyebrow was twitching.  
It usually did that when something unsettled the very core of my soul. Images of that special Mr. Hugo Strange electroconvulsive therapy in the moist cellars of Arkham flashed through my mind and let me break out in a cold sweat.

“I never planned on singing about him,” I said dryly, my voice breaking in the middle of the sentence.  
That dear doc had done an excellent job. Ten, one, ten, two, ten, three, 400 volt, ten, one, ten, two, ten, three, 450 volt, ten one, ten, two, ten, three, 490 volt, ten, a sting in my heart pulled me out of that nightmare.  
I looked down on the floor, clenching my teeth, remembering the cramps making me do the same thing.  
The Bauta watched me melting in my pity. I was sure that he knew about Arkham. 

“And don’t ever be late again,” he added, then turned around, his cape brushing over my shins as he did so, leaving the hallway.

The mental terror faded quickly as he walked away. I sucked in the air and violently pushed the rest of those images back to the area of eternal oblivion.

“Where is he?” I shouted across the hallway, hoping that the Bauta would still hear it. 

“On the balcony”

“Thanks, you sonofabitch,” I muttered and followed him, heading for the balcony.

After the first three steps my heart sank to my boots again. It was routine by now but it showed me how emotional I could get about that man. Whether I liked that or not wasn’t up for debate. A mix of fear and excitement made me hurry. What would I see, looking at him? Who would I see, looking at him? It was all so very new to me.

 

The Volto was staring into the dark. He would spend the night there, alone, and he would return home when the first rays of light would lie down on the world again, alone.  
He was regretting it by now. He should have thought of it, taken his revelation into account. Yet, he had been playing with fire and had burnt his fingers. Dealing with that man had never led to anything fruitful, he should have known better. His world was in pieces now and though, he clung to it, looking at the shards.  
Thinking about it, he couldn’t stand it. It had always been a delicate thing, that thing between the two of them, but now he had ruined it completely. 

Lost in his misery, he didn’t notice. Only when he stopped behind him he quickly turned his head and at seeing something he fully turned around. His eyes were still wet and his vision slightly blurred.  
The light had returned. A shining, white silhouette in the dark, the contrary of a shadow.  
Light.

A man, dressed in a white tail coat, white chemise, white tie, white pants and white shoes stood in front of him. His hair was dyed white, the contact lenses he had added were milky white, his lips full and white.  
He wore no mask.  
And though, his gaze was as empty as the Volto’s face had always been.

The Volto was paralyzed. He had never seen such beauty. Not in anyone alive. Following a sudden inspiration, he bowed down, silently thanking him for coming. He felt that he had to do that since he hadn’t taken his coming for granted after all that had happened.  
The white man silently watched him. For another moment, it was silent, then the Volto closed his eyes and took his mask off.

A man with black hair and piercing eyes which were framed by black entered the night. The white man’s eyes came back to life. He had expected that, but he hadn’t expected the impact that look left on him.  
Silence spread between them again. Around them, everything was going on, people laughing in the distance and moans carried outside the castle on airy wings.

They looked at each other, savouring the moment; experiencing something none of them would have believed to be possible at all.  
After some more moments the white man slowly came closer and bent his knee. He turned his head to the side to expose the collared neck.  
Begging.  
Never he had been doing something similar. His pride always would have stood in the way and suddenly, with Joker and the bootlicker being gone, he could do it.  
For another person.

The black dressed man had expected nothing like that, he had not even expected him to ever show up again. His facade slipped and a caring passion returned to his eyes. He took out the leash and made him his again.  
Then, he took a mask out of his cape and handed it over. The white man took it, got up and wordlessly put it on. The black rhombs were the only dash of colour now, drawing all attention to the mask. He stood up and waited patiently.  
The black man put on his mask as well and together, they left the balcony, their heads raised and their pace smart.

The circle was complete.

 

______________


	4. Doubts and devotion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joker has finally come back to the castle after finding out about the true identity of the Volto. He consents to the game again, not expecting another decisive turn in the story of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some time ago I had the idea of Joker assuming the role of a priest (pervy catholic that I am) and lynxina drew me a marvellous piece. Keats then asked me whether that was part of my fiction, The Circle, which made me consider the idea. Thus, I gotta thank both parties, lynxina and Keats112, both from deviantArt, for the visual input!

**Doubts and devotion**

 

After he had leashed me the Volto led me back into the castle, straight to the room with the drinks. It was a kind of odourless liquid and though, I could feel my body rebelling against it every time I swallowed it and I wouldn’t need it anyway. With every step, my desire grew. Knowing that it was Bruce Wayne I was following, being dragged along behind him like a dog, almost sent me to my knees, jerking off right there and then.  
I didn’t approve of it, but that didn’t matter. His will was the only thing that mattered so I followed him and gulped down the liquid.

We left that room and entered another one where people are sitting and drinking. Red leather chairs and black tables filled that room and most of them were occupied. We found a free triplet in the back of that room near a black curtain. When he sat down he almost merged with it. I, on the other hand, was like the bait; if I had glown in the dark it wouldn’t have been more attention-getting than my current look with my hair dyed white and my black lips.  
Expectantly, I looked at him. A vacant expression.

A sheet of paper and a pen was put on the table. He scribbled down something, then handed me over the sheet.

“Your strict taboos” I could read on it.

Were we that close already? I wasn’t sure whether I wanted that at all. It was different when I didn’t know who was behind that mask but now that I knew I felt afraid. Thinking of Bruce Wayne knowing my pleasures and abjects made me feel uncomfortable.  
He noticed me hesitantly playing around with the pen and got up to get it back and write something else on it.

“Trust me.”

My eyes stuck to the two words. He was serious about it. And I couldn’t leave anymore at all; I was wearing his mark and I had consented to this, yet, I had not fully been aware of the consequences. Or had I been, deliberately accepting them back then? I didn’t remember anymore. I stared at the words.  
Strict taboos. Did that mean that he wanted to know about them in order to avoid it? Did that mean that my will mattered as well?

“Why do you want to know about them?” I replied silently.

“So I can avoid them.”

Clenching my teeth, I looked up at him straight into his eyes. Warmth spread in my guts.  
Someone who cared. I could barely believe it. I felt threatened, feeling him seeping into me, reaching for things which weren’t his.  
No, they were his. I had committed myself to him, fully aware of the consequences and I had agreed on that because I knew that this was my only chance.  
Salvation. 

I looked down at the words again and had a thought. Finally, my lips turned into a smirk and I shoved the paper towards him again, but he insisted on me writing something on it by pushing it back.  
I took a deep breath and took the pen, thinking hard on that. Well, a lot of things seemed like a stupid idea to me, some of them were gross, some of them could possibly be fun, some of them surely must be fun and others just gave me the creeps. It must have been those he was demanding to know.

“Shit, needles, enemas.”

He read those three words, the expression never changing, remaining cold and silent, as always. Then he wrote something again.

“All-time favourites”

I cleared my throat at reading that. I had absolutely no practical experience in terms of this game. Leaning back, I tried to appear as relaxed as possible, thinking hard on that. Images of the Batman beating the shit out of me turned up. I couldn’t say that our meetings never had had any sexual component. Yet, I had never expected him to be aware of it. 

“Blood, bondage, asphyxiation, whipping”.

I handed over the sheet, yet, when he was about to take it I took it back and wrote another word on it.  
When he read the last word he did bat an eye. I had expected that to happen and so I stared at him defiantly. He was free to be as perverted as he pleased and so was I. Free. No need to justify anything, no need to fear any consequences. We were all wearing masks. Even if I knew who was behind that, he wore a mask.  
He wrote a reply.

“Electrostimulation?”

“No prob.”

Arkham had some of the finest stimulating instruments. Daddy’s been a bad boy. Off to the electrotherapy room. What, yet again? Yes, please.

“Drugs”

“NO”

“Golden shower”

“?”

“Pissing games”

“Wouldn’t really turn me on.”

He looked up at me.  
Heck, did I feel sick. Exposing myself to him like that, talking about things which even I had not been aware of until now. But, on the other hand, he was doing the same. Both of us were vulnerable, probably doing that for the first time. And as much as I was worried about him asking me whether I enjoyed showers, I wouldn’t judge him. Cause he wouldn’t judge me either.

“Female clothes”

I hesitated. Did I want to admit that? Well, considering that I had admitted that I was into electrosex it couldn’t get any more embarrassing.

“Yes”

“The safeword?”

“The what?”

“Principally, I will be as considerate as possible but if something turns out to be too much and unbearable you say that word and I will stop immediately.”

“Ace”

“It shouldn’t contain any i or s. What about ‘cograph’?”

“Fine.”

It was a little frightening how much he knew about that all. Maybe that wasn’t his first time at all. I kept the sheet.

“Is that your first time doing this?”

He took it, read it and looked at me for a long time. Then he started writing, slowly.

“Basically, yes.” 

“What, “basically”?”

“Nothing as intimate yet. Women, but just sex.”

That one word bothered me. Of course, I couldn’t deny it and though, it unsettled me.

“Why not stick with women and just sex?”

I felt something like disappointment and anger claiming my mind. If he had had so many women why didn’t he continue fucking them. I didn’t want to become just another fuck buddy. In the end, I had not gone through all that just to be a deluxe fuck.  
He put the sheet away and leaned back, crossing his legs. I could see it in his eyes.  
Too much. Too many feelings. Too many implications, too many secrets, too many worries, too many objections, too many fears. Too much.  
We were both lost in a game we didn’t understand.

We stared at each other for a long time, trying to read each other. Someone laughed. Imagining Bruce Wayne sitting in front of me behind that mask gave me a thrill.  
We had been knowing each other for so long and now we realized how little we knew about each other. Why had he chosen me? Always, those questions accompanied me. Why. Directly related to my self-doubts. Why me, what did he like about me so much that he chose me for his company. As self-aware as I was, I wouldn’t find a reason for loving me. By then, I had choked Jack again. The lovable one.  
The Volto finally moved, took the pen and paper and wrote.

“There must be more than that.”

“Than what?”

“Than sex.”

“Think you find it with me?”

“Yes.”

His handwriting...the sheet of paper was so white, bleached...the table black...I felt a lump in my throat choking me.  
That wasn’t right. My self-hatred grew the more he seemed to love me. Overwhelmed by disgust and fear I got up and headed for the exit.  
In the middle of the room I stopped. I had run from him once already and here I was again, ready to serve. I was moving in circles of doubts and devotion but maybe, it was about time to accept my decision.

Once I had someone touching me so readily, kissing me so deeply and even trying to understand me so patiently I should cling to that and never let go anymore.  
I saw him taking the pen and paper and getting up. Footsteps behind me, clattering. A shiver ran down my spine, knowing that within a moment, he’d claim me back. I expected him to pull my hair or violently grab my wrist.  
Gentle fingers on my neck, his forehead nudging the back of my head.

“This is as new for me as it is for you”

Words whispered into my ear. His real voice.  
It was the first time I heard it like that, Bruce Wayne talking to me. It was quite a moment.  
To be honest, I craved his touch. He knew how to treat me and how to beat me. I had to forget about everything I knew by now again; who he was, where he lived, what he did at daytime...did I...Bruce Wayne...someone I had been obsessing with for years, someway, somehow...behind that mask...

His fingers brushed over my crotch and I jerked. What a sick bastard; we had a moment and he just used that for gropes again. Yes, honestly, he was the right one. Just as sick.  
He pressed his hand against my dick and I took a step back, right into his genitals. He grabbed some hair and pulled my head back. As expected, the way I loved it.

“We’re bound to each other. You are mine.”

Words, striking like thunder. That drew a smirk from me. He let go and I straightened myself, repeating the words in my head over and over again.  
The leash went tight and I began to move again, following. That was my master, that was my lover, that was my saviour, dressed in deepest black, dragging a moon-white man along behind him.

Bruce Wayne.  
I licked my lips when my dick woke up again. It had never been sleeping at all, it had just retreated a little during our conversation but now when I imagined Bruce Wayne fucking me it stood at attention.

Wayne...determination, libertinism, fetishist-  
I bumped into said man all of a sudden when we stopped.  
He took a step to the side and I saw a black door with a red light above the door frame. I gasped when he tugged at the leash so that I stumbled and crashed against the wall. I was intelligent enough as to not stand in the middle of that aisle; I just would have liked to examine that red light some more, darn it. I loved it when he made a fool out of me. Back to business.

The leash slid from his hand and again I searched his eyes for a clue. An angry stare made me clench my teeth. What had I done wrong? While I still was asking myself he turned and walked down the aisle, disappearing behind a corner.  
Dumbfounded, I looked at the spot where he had disappeared. Gone, away. However, I was sure he would return and I were to wait here. That look. Of course.

I leaned back against the wall. A statue, a mirror, stucco…one sheep, two ships, three ribs…the floor, the carpet, red, fuzzy, warm…minutes passed in silence, only the distant moans and laughs of distant individuals fucking each other senseless - I jumped with fright when the door was opened to my right and a laughing couple stepped out of the room. They didn’t even look at me but headed down the aisle.  
Well.

I looked at the floor again. Warm, fuzzy. Bruce Wayne…  
However, it always ended with sex. Not that I liked it but where was the love? Where was that ‘more’ he had been writing about? I didn’t know the rules and system of this underground society of blood and pain at all and so it was hard for me to see the love in that kind of sex. Yet, when I thought of my feelings when he had tied me to that chair the previous time I could have an idea of what it all was about. That love went deeper. The body was just a means to act it out, like a canvas ready to be painted on. Pictures of love.

While I was philosophizing and waiting for his return some couples passed me and also three men. One of them stopped and looked at me. I lifted my head and froze. A black skull was grinning at me. Reflexively, I swallowed and pressed myself against the wall. No criminal had ever dealt me harder blows, no doctor had ever hurt me more badly and no man had ever humiliated me in a more horrible way than this subject in front of me. It was the black skull who had led the rape brigade a few months ago.  
The other two men stopped and turned to see the reason why their man wasn’t following them. 

When they spotted me their eyes turned into gleeful slits.  
That was no coincidence. These men hadn’t just been walking down the aisle accidentally right now. I suspected them having been watching us, one way or another. That dramatic appearance was just a masquerade.  
I was short of breath. Usually, I confidently bodychecked anyone blocking my way, but these men had an unpleasant effect on my body. I felt sick to my stomach and couldn’t breathe anymore. To hide the pain in my face I bent my head, ready to take anything they would come up with. Secretly, I was praying for him to return. Every second I spent in their company made me feel weaker and sicker.

Three men, dressed in black, stood there and stared at me. Their looks were burning holes through my head. A slave without his master, unable to stand up for himself. It was pathetic.  
Their fine shoes were shimmering in the light of the candles. Polished, shiny black.  
A loud clattering made me look up. The Volto was rushing across the aisle, his cape doing saltos behind him, eyes riveted on the three gents. The sword of Damocles dissolved when he took my hand and pulled me behind his back, putting himself between me and them.  
It was embarrassing and flattering at the same time. They sneered at us, arms crossed. 

“May we try him out again? I bet he isn’t so tight anymore, now that you’ve screwed him a few times, eh? What a tight little asshole that was, right, boys?”

“Yeah…”

“Must’ve been a virgin,” the Zanni stated, grinning.

“Get out of my sight,” someone growled in front of me. I watched them laughing.

“If you dare touch him again I will rip that filthy thing out of your body and you will choke on it, no matter whose protégé you are, got me?!”

The Zanni licked his lips and with a smirk turned away. The skull took one last glimpse at me, then left as well.  
I was torn between showing off with a traumatized soul and giving in to the lust which that imperious behavior of my Volto was causing. I decided for pleasure, hedonist that I was.

“Much obliged,” I whispered into his ear from behind. He closed his eyes for a moment, hearing that voice for the first time as well. I made sure to sound as sexy as possible. I could feel his soul melting away under my voice.  
I felt like a newborn. All that shit didn’t matter anymore; all those crimes, my look, my deeds, my mind…nothing of that mattered to him. He loved me for the one I just was behind that layer of white.  
Jack.

Jaggedy Jack-I stumbled into the room and almost tripped up on him. A few chambersticks illuminated enough of the room’s interior to tell that it was a kind of theatre stage, a vaudeville occasion.  
He pushed me across the room and behind the curtain, giving me a big plastic bag, then he left without any further word.  
Maybe we should start talking to each other.

I dropped the contents on the floor; it was a costume. Understanding enough to not ask him what I should do with that I started undressing. A robe, a scarf, a cord. Fine then.  
Before I left the safe side of the curtain I decided to drop my mask. If that was a fetish of his he should enjoy it to the maximum and I was sure that he wanted to see my face together with those clothes.  
I shook my hair loose so that it covered my eyes and with a smirk I stepped into the light of the stage, slowly walking up to the edge of it.

Bruce Wayne was sitting in a chair right in front of the stage, spotting a man with green hair and red lips who had donned the clothes of a priest. A long black robe with a million buttons, a red cord wound around his hips and a mahogany coloured tippet on his shoulders. The perfect copy of a preacher.  
The smirk made him cross his legs to hide the erection.

When the man on the stage became aware of his effect on the viewer he started moving, coqueting with the man behind the mask. His smirk grew as he slowly lifted the seam of the robe, baring his thigh enough just to let the black silk fall from his hands a moment later, hiding his pristine white skin again under the demure clothes.  
When he let his head fall back he noticed the pole to his right. That was all he needed to make his watcher cum in his ludicrous suit.

He loosened the cord around his hips a little, then set about climbing the metal bar for a slow, teasing pole dance.  
The man with the mask was glad he was still wearing his mask, otherwise he would have felt embarrassed at his own arousal. How could that man, dressed in sacred clothes, turn him on so much. No, it was rather the fact that sin dressed in sacred clothes turned him on so much.  
He was sure his father was just turning in his grave, yelling at the skies to bring his boy back to reason. 

Father Seers, dear almost-member of his family, marrying them, doing the funerals for his family, aunties, uncles, cousins, visiting them once a month to sit down in front of the fireplace with Thomas to have a glass of Gin…poor father Seers, turning in his grave as well, watching the debauched son of a millionaire getting off on a lunatic in priest clothes.  
The fall of the House of Wayne.  
His erection grew.

The green-haired man wetted two fingers, opened three buttons and stuck his hand through the slit. With eyes turned to heaven and his mouth hanging open in lust he caressed his dick, feeling it growing under his touch as well.  
The man with the mask got up and climbed the stage. Violently, he grabbed some hair and kicked the inside of the other man’s knee so that he fell down on the floor. The green-haired man cried out in shock and pleasure and while he was trying to recover from that a plastic ball was forced through his lips.

After gagging him, the man in the suit left the stage to sit down again with a faint smirk. The false priest looked up behind his curtain of green hair, staring at the masked man’s eyes. Yes, he was sitting on the ground, his legs bared, but he knew that this position would just serve to tease him even more. If he was his slave he was going to be a good one, pressing every psychological button.

He got up on his knees, pushed the robe aside and bluntly started stroking his dick in silence. Only the delicate sound of his hand moving that skin was heard. The other man remained silent, so a glance at the audience told him. He inhaled loudly through his nose and let his other hand join him, cupping his balls and rubbing the scrotal septum, moaning around the gag and winding his body to the rhythm of that song.

The masked man got up again. He wouldn’t watch that any longer; his attempt to slow it all down hadn’t really been as effective as he had hoped it would be. Eyes met for a second, longing, desperate, expectantly, before his boot collided with the kneeling man’s chest, sending him backwards to the floor. Though, he propped himself up on his hands, looking up at the caped man towering over him.  
No sign of emotion; a cold, vacant face.

His boot hit the white man’s jaw which sent him back down to the floor.  
Where he belonged, he thought.  
The masked man knelt down on his cheek, drawing a muffled cry of pain from him. Under the mask, he was smirking.  
He wasn’t done yet. While with one hand working on the fly of his pants and with the other stroking the false priest’s dick, he added some pressure till the man under him was panting hard. He didn’t dare to touch him at all; his hands were resting on the floor, trying to push against it to free himself from that oppression.

When he thought that his dick couldn’t get any harder at all the other man lifted his leg and positioned himself between the white man’s legs. Before he could touch the sore spots on his cheeks his attention was drawn to his lower regions again, having the masked man passionately pumping his dick and making sure to touch the glans every time he let the prepuce slide over it.  
The masked man finally tugged at the closure of the gag, eager to get rid of it and finally kiss that asshole until his lips would bleed. 

Precum was shyly trickling from the tip. The man saw it, took the tippet and wound it around the other man’s throat, strangling him.  
Ten fingers tried to get between the layer of fabric and skin and ten fingers failed. While he desperately attempted to remove the device the masked man kept stroking him. Despair was written in the white man’s face. 

With a muffled cry he came, spilling his semen all over the priestly clothes, white against black.  
Trembling, he sank to the floor,  
The masked man first removed the gag, then let go of the tippet only to pull him up by his hair. Groaning and coughing, he complied and sat up, eyes shut in heavenly distress.

Hard flesh was pushed past his red lips, touching the uvula and triggering more coughing and gagging. He clutched at the masked man’s hand, begged him to let go, but he wouldn’t, ramming his dick into his mouth even more forcefully.  
A few violent thrusts and he came as well, ejaculating into his mouth.  
The green-haired man couldn’t keep himself from coughing. Semen flowed from his nose, down on his lips and down on the twitching dick still stuck between them. For a moment, he meant to suffocate. He weakly lifted his hands but let them sink again, giving in and gagging finally.

Tears streamed down his face when the man withdrew from his mouth. The man slid down on the floor, coughing and panting.  
He loved that sight.  
With loving eyes, he knelt down and gently touched his cheek, reassuring him of the love in his actions. The other man felt too weak than to respond in any way and just snuggled into his hand, still coughing and wheezing.

 

I was spent. Aching. Sore. A mess.  
But happy.  
His perversion was my liberation.  
I needed some gentleness now.

Still huffing and puffing, I took his arm and snuggled up to his body. When I closed my eyes and allowed myself to get lost with him he dropped his mask.  
That was Bruce Wayne.  
He embraced me and held me while I wiped the semen off my face. It was an odd taste since it stuck in my nose as well. He had planned all of that; every single action, everything leading towards this. I had underestimated him; he was just as neurotic as I could be when I was thinking up crimes.

We spent some moments in silence until I had recovered as much as to be able to get up. I showed him so by gently pushing his hand away and he got up and his mask. Mine was lying behind the curtain so I went to fetch it. When I returned, Bruce Wayne had become the Volto again. A cold, vacant gaze, yet, so full of love behind it.  
He disappeared behind the curtain then and got back with a full plastic bag; my clothes. He leashed me again and pulled on it but my throat was so sore that I couldn’t stifle an audible protest. He reacted by pulling even more forcefully and coughing and gasping I smirked, stumbling along behind him, liking that all way too much.

We left the room. There was a couple waiting at the left and the door didn’t even fall shut, were they in already, so eagerly had they been awaiting the moment they could enter as well.

“Have fun!” I shouted behind me, grinning.

He put me in my place again with the leash by causing another round of coughing. Then we went back to usual with him dragging me along behind him. However, I was feeling a little off, dressed like that. There were a load of perverts around, but most of them turned to take a second look at us. He was proudly presenting me, indulging in the curious looks of the other guests.  
Strands of my white dyed hair covered my eyes and I pushed them back. Just at that moment, someone tripped me up and I fell down, almost dragging him to the ground as well since he still held the leash in his hand.

While I was sorting out my legs and arms I heard laughter. A voice I knew. I decided to stay where I was and watch it from down there.  
The Volto turned to look at the man. It was the black skull, flanked by the Zanni and a Bauta. I was so sick of them.  
He jumped at them and smacked the skull so hard that he fell backwards. Immediately, the other two got ready for a brawl and lunged at him. Inviolable loyalty made me get up and join the fight. Fingers and fists collided, hits were dealt and taken and in the end, I watched the Volto finishing off the skull. 

Guests were watching us, some of them jerking off around us, some of them derisively smirking, others amused at the new kind of entertainment and others turning away in haughty arrogance.  
My nose was bleeding, my stomach was upset and my arm ached terribly from the fall but otherwise, I was quite alright. Panting, I leaned against a chair and watched the Volto growing in front of the beaten skull. That was the man I knew, fists as hard as iron, a godly stamina, invincible. He was completely in his element.

To mock the skull, he just stood there, gazing at him.  
Yes, his was bigger. And longer.  
When he thought that the skull had gotten the message he turned around and beckoned me over. Wordlessly, he took the leash and dragged me out of the room, people staring at our backs. I couldn’t hide the smirk.

After getting us another load of those drinks he led me to a room where we could have some privacy. Long curtains going down from the ceiling to the floor were separating sofas and wing chairs so that no one could see through. There were various things lying on the table; some glasses, some small bottles, ropes and some instruments.  
He pulled the curtains close and sat down, beckoning me to sit down on his thighs. So I did, but not without difficulties. I had to push the robe past my thighs to be able to straddle my legs as much as needed. His mask was cracked.

He took my mask off, then got rid of his own and put them on the table. His nose was bleeding as well and his cheek was swollen. Bruce Wayne would give the next speech with a black eye. What a hoot. He placed his hands on my thighs and pushed the robe past my dick.  
Heck, even if I solely was a deluxe fuck, it didn’t matter. I was his.

He just couldn’t leave me well alone; his thumb was on my dick again. He was worse than me. Yet, what he did then made me acknowledge that I never wanted to know about the real depths of his mind at all when it was about sex. I’d probably drown before I’d reach anything even close to the bottom. Or the surface.  
He unzipped his pants, took out his dick and wrapped his foreskin around my penis.

His expression changed. It turned from cold, indifferent ignorance into a soft and mellow indulgence with a faint, fond smile.  
If I was his first man maybe he was just trying it out. And that meant that he could possibly find out that he didn’t like it. I wasn’t ready to be ditched. I wasn’t ready anymore. I had fought for him, I had endured some of the worst, terrific pain of my life and I had come back, seeking his closeness. That entire thing had demanded a great deal of me; I had had to overcome myself in order to make way for closeness. I had had to consult Jack and I had had to stand his pain, his honesty, his craving. I had sacrificed my self for him.  
I wasn’t someone to be fooled around with anymore when I had already started to be serious. 

The fears were choked by the effects of the drink again. A very reliable thing.  
My dick grew towards his, unfolding like a rose, from a bud to full bloom, inviting his to do the same.  
A smirk told me that he was up for more ungodly things. He leaned forward, reached past me and gave me a glass with some liquid in it. I took a closer look at it. It looked similar to the drinks we were given at the beginning but I doubted that it was the same since that stuff was served in champagne glasses.

“What is that?”

He licked his lips, then grinned at me.

“Drugs.”

His eyes told me that he was serious. Why had I told him that I wasn’t into that shit at all when he just forced me to take it now? Why-

“Trust me. You just need a good leader.”

His presence flicked a switch in my mind and I changed my position. Sometimes, that happened when he successfully invaded my mind and took control over me. That, and additionally when I allowed him to do so.  
What could happen to me? I knew that he wasn’t out to hurt me for real or to damage me. The experiences I had made when I had been on my own or forced to take that shit had been hell but together with that first drink, I felt more confident and ready for some more experiments. And apparently, he knew enough about it to drag me from hell if I fell again.  
I took the glass and emptied it. Flavourless sparkling mineral water.  
He tugged at my robe then and I got up.

“Undress. Sit down, lean back and close your eyes.”

While I did so he took a drink himself and leaned back.  
I snuggled up to the corner of the sofa and closed my eyes. It was hard for me to keep them closed because there still was something inside me needing to see what was going on around me; something very afraid of the entire world and its inhabitants. However, I forced myself to keep them shut and concentrate on Bruce Wayne looking after me.  
Minutes passed.

I didn’t feel bored at all; various parts of my body ached so terribly that a few moments in silence did me very good.  
The black started to materialize. Bubbly, solid, yet squeezable. Like patchouli. Just one minute later I noticed that I was smiling, probably as idiotically as possible. He’d see it.  
Who’d he? Bruce Wayne, darn it, was sitting right next to me. 

A warmth similar to the one at the beginning flooded my body, but it was even more pleasant. The man to my right became the center of my world. I needed to talk to him, I needed to see him, now.  
I opened my eyes and turned my head. Bruce Wayne was looking at me with a rapt smile. That was about right; exactly my feelings as well. I got up, faltered and came to sit on his thighs again. That wasn’t enough. I needed more of him. Clumsily, I opened his jacket and shirt and bared his torso. Beautiful, smooth skin, muscles, everything the heart desires.  
I kissed him long and deeply.

“Why have me met just now…” I whispered into his mouth.

“Because I was just ready now.”

“What kept you from it?”

“Fear.”

“What kept you from it?”

“Joker”

He looked me in the eyes, a long and deep look which I just interrupted by kissing him again. I wasn’t up for philosophy right now; however, knowing that I had just revealed everything to him by that one single word. Maybe I could distract him from it. It had spilled from my lips so effortlessly, yet, now I regretted it. It made me vulnerable, bared my soul, bared my sickness and my mind. He consented to oblivion and kissed me back, finally.  
Why had I told him? I leaned back and got some distance between us. Nothing like fear was on my mind, quite the contrary, actually: joy and affection.

He lifted a hand and traced along a scar on my chest. I looked down.  
Four years ago, half a wooden chest sticking in my chest after another fight with the Bat. In fact, almost every of my scars was the result of an encounter with the Bat. Not counting broken ribs, bleeding noses, brain concussions, sprained ankles, cuts, burns, corrosive injuries, bloody urine…I had to laugh out loud. He arched his eyebrows, looking blank. When I got aware of the comical side of the situation and that he didn’t know why I was laughing at all I stopped.

“I always enjoyed you beating the crap out of me…”

The second I had ended the sentence I clenched my teeth. Just what the fuck?  
I watched him contorting his face till he couldn’t hold back anymore and burst out laughing himself. When he had calmed down he wiped the tears from his eyes. Nice to know that he was just as fucked as I was.

“You know…” he replied breathlessly, yet, still grinning, “me too…”

As fucked as I was, I became aware of the implications of our talk and I took a deep breath.  
Maybe he had already been serious long before I had even played with the thought of getting serious.  
Bones colliding, knuckles hitting soft flesh, warm blood trickling down that chin and fingers collecting it by dealing that jaw another blow until it hurt so much that it could barely be moved anymore, hands meeting, grabbing firm muscles, failing at keeping them from what they were doing…there was a secret choreography in our dance, a moving close and a distancing again and always…always we had our eyes glued to the other man’s eyes, speaking, talking, kissing with them, through pain and blood.

“Love me hard,” I whispered into the vacant air between us.

“Let me,” he whispered back, eyes darkening.

As graciously as I was able to, I got up and positioned myself in front of him, presenting my body to him. I knew that he couldn’t resist.  
He fucked me with his eyes. My collarbone, I could feel his tongue tracing along it; my nipples, they went hard when I felt his teeth closing around them; my chest, trembling when he touched me with his fingertips; the insides of my thighs, so sensitive to his touch…  
His dick had freed itself from the grip of his pants now fully and was pressing against his stomach.

“Turn around”

I did as he told me. Showing him my back triggered another hallucinatory wave and sent me into blissful unawareness.

“Imagine…”

I tilted my head to show him that I was attentive.

“You find yourself in a warehouse…you were just about to set the trap and you get up from the floor to look at your equipment…you stumble and you hit the wall hard. You like that…but you hide your grin and you turn around to see who’s done that.  
Just when you are about to make a figure out in the dark in front of you you find yourself pressed against the wall, fingers tight around your throat, the other hand pressing against your chest to keep you there…you notice now who that is.”

His voice got lower. Tainted.  
I was shaking with excitement, craving for the feeling of his hard dick in my ass.

“You try to escape, you try to wriggle free but a knee presses against your crotch and you stop, feeling that pressure getting too much. You ask yourself what he wants from you. If he had wanted you arrested he’d have cuffed you already; if he had wanted you dead you’d be dead already; if he had wanted you he’d have taken you already. Right at that moment, he loosens his grip around your throat and you ask yourself again what he wants from you…”

It felt, looked and sounded too familiar. Often, I had asked myself what he wanted from me when it clearly wasn’t my arrestation, nor my death, nor my sanity. Usually, I had already swallowed so much blood by then that I mostly felt sick and just about to throw up on his hands and boots but I always pulled myself together, trying to not destroy that romantic moment when he was choking me and trying to catch hold of my wrists.

“What does he want from you…why you…”

A long pause followed. The two words didn’t disappear anymore. It had been that question I had been asking myself since we had met the second time. And I wasn’t any wiser yet. These two words kept eating away at my self-confidence, at my very sanity. I didn’t want to bother about that now since that drink was addressing quite other spheres than those about sense and meaning.  
I turned around, slowly, dealing him a dirty look.

“Cause I got the tightest asshole of them all.”

A grin spread and I wetted two fingers and pretended shoving them up my ass.  
That threw him. Completely.  
He jumped from the sofa, gripped my jaw and kissed me violently until he drew blood. It hurt like hell when he bit my lips sore but I loved it. I’d look in the mirror after days and find the dried blood there.

“Wanna see that,” he whispered into my ear, biting my lobe, his fingers tracing down my spine towards my ass.

“Do me,” I replied and slapped him in the face.

For a second, he was somewhat perplexed. In order to break the spell I lifted my hand for the next blow but he gripped my wrist and paid me back in kind. Our noses started bleeding again, still sore from the fight with the rapists, but neither of us could bring himself to bother. We fought on, kicking, slapping and hitting each other, yet, careful not to break through the curtain wall. In the end, I found myself bending forward, yielding to the pressure as he was about to dislocate my shoulder joint, breathing harshly, watching blood dripping to the floor and feeling blood dripping on my back.

“Enough?” he asked, out of breath.

“Never,” I replied haughtily.

“Fine then”

He let go and before I could straighten my back his hand pressed against my pelvis and I was forced to cope with half of his dick in my ass.  
The pain that action caused was unbearable and I caught my breath.

“You’re right,” he sneered into my ear as I was gasping for breath, “the tightest asshole of them all.”

And in order to break me even more he pressed his dick in further till I flinched.

“Fuck…” was all I could breathe into the silence. I couldn’t move. Although the pain was limited to just some ridiculous ring of muscles it spread in my entire body and drained me.  
He held me in place and I could hear him breathing right next to my ear, hard from tainted lust. Desperate from the stinging and dull pain I shifted and just triggered another pain attack. Right now, I couldn’t tell whether I liked or hated it, desperately trying to kick my algolagnia in gear.

“Relax,” he whispered gently and started stroking my chest.

“You don’t know…what that feels like,” I panted teeth-gnashingly.

“Maybe I do”

His thumb was teasing the underside of my dick. Back to business. If I couldn’t take a fully grown manly dick like a man I rather should have left the location. I swallowed and moved forward, letting his dick almost slide from my ass. I needed some moments to catch up with him. And I loved him for what he did then.  
Nothing.  
His hands were still glued to my body, yet, he didn’t force me to take him in again. When I realized that I closed my eyes and threw back my head to meet his.

“Why me,” I asked him, putting my hands on his, fingers intertwining.  
I could feel scar tissue under our fingers. It was silent, until one of his hands left and touched the inside of my thigh, the mark.

“Don’t ask.”

Insight regarding my lovableness eluded me. He seemed to know the reason why, but that didn’t help me.  
With a sigh I took his dick in, balls deep. It hurt, but I didn’t care. I needed to feel him since my soul felt like running from him. He kissed me, then started moving gently. Each of his thrusts was considerate, careful and full of tenderness, like he tried to fondle my prostate. I lost the last bit of my strength which I had managed to save from his attack and leaned back against him.  
Suddenly, I broke out in a cold sweat and a nasty kind of nausea made it impossible for me to pronounce one more word before I passed out.

 

Complete bliss.  
For a second, I thought I had entered heaven until I opened my eyes.  
Curtains.  
Pain.  
Wayne.  
I searched for his eyes to ask what had happened.  
Bruce Wayne was looking at me with a sweet smile.

“Syncopation.”

“What?”

“You fainted.”

Oh really?  
Laboriously, I rolled over and came to lie on my side. The air wouldn’t weigh down on my chest so heavily that way.  
My ass felt sore. Like the gates of hell.  
The movement had caused some upheaval in hell and when I understood what the cause of that was I closed my eyes in disbelief. It was cum. That man had just fucked me into unconsciousness just to come in my swooned ass.

“You’re disgusting”

He cleared his throat, then bent down to get his face down on my level and to stare straight into my eyes.

“Just for the record, you came as well, saint.”

“I didn’t.”

Boldly, he touched my dick and then forced me to take the fingers into my mouth.

“What does it taste like? Honey?”

I moved my head away, spitting.

“Herring brine.”

“You are disgusting.”

I couldn’t but smirk at that.  
There was no right or wrong simply because there was no wrong anymore.

There was a wrong, but I didn’t dare to think of that.  
A day, an hour when he would approach me with a serious look and tell me that it was over. A day, an hour when he had gotten sick of me, when my body would gross him out, when my touch would make him shirk from my fingers.  
I had barely won him over and I was losing him already.

“Don’t leave me,” I said into the silence.

It grew.  
Oppressive. It grew to a killing extent.  
He was looking at me, but I couldn’t read him. I was too busy choking my panic. Finally, he drew a deep breath and began to speak.

“What do I need to do to show you how serious I am about this?”

The grotesqueness of this situation was hilarious.  
Two men, fighting each other tooth and nail for years, one good, one bad, one saving, one killing, suddenly snuggling up to each other and searching for comfort within the other.  
It was a brittle peace. I didn’t believe in his fidelity and I didn’t believe in his love. Although he had told me many a times, with words and actions, and it had felt like he had been honest but whatever it was, he couldn’t love me for real.  
He must have seen that in my face because he looked away. I wanted to be alone in my pain.  
He turned to face me again, eyes piercing me.

“I think it is about time we part for tonight,” he said dryly.

I had disappointed him. 

“But I would ask you to come again next time.”

I sat up and brushed some strands out of my face. Damaged.  
Weak.  
Worthless.  
Slut.

“Please.”

I clenched my teeth and looked at him.

“Trust me.”

“I’ve never trusted anyone,” I whispered, “and the one’s I trusted just…”

I was past any shame or dignity. I had openly admitted my hopeless plight.  
He turned away to leave me alone in my misery, to give me some moments and some space where I could recover safely.

“Can you try…”

He faced me again, eyes fixed on mine, “…one more time…Jack…”

Within 10 minutes I had left the castle, just holding the mask in front of my face, not bothering to put it on fully.  
Away.  
Breathlessly, I entered the car and headed home. As far away as possible. It was a trance similar to the one I had experienced when I had found out who was hiding behind the mask of the Volto.  
And now he had found out who hid behind the white.  
On the backseat, someone touched me gently. Someone lovable.

“He’s figured you out. You’re not so hard to read, after all.”

I winded down the window of the car and got rid of the mask.

He had rendered it redundant.

 

_______________________


	5. epistolary confessions

“Mr. Wayne, we don’t offer such services.”

“Please.”

“We have never done anything of the like. People come here, they meet here and they leave again to come next time, no more, no less. It is uncommon.”

“Like all the rest of this.”

“You may be right, but these are the rules.”

“Please.”

___________

 

Sunday morning.  
Knocking on the door. Cursing the asshole who drove me out of bed at 7am I stumbled to the door to open it. My driver was standing there in his suit. I furrowed my brow.

“Is it...”

He took an envelope out of his jacket and presented it to me, then glanced at my morning boner. For half a minute I looked at the blank envelope, still not awake enough to understand that I were to just take it.  
When the driver lifted an eyebrow I finally got it. I took it and he turned around to leave with a smug smile.

Nothing written on it.  
But it smelled of lavender so it wasn’t from the Bauta. The scent evoked strong feelings. It could only be one person. With growing excitement I opened it, sitting down on the sofa.

 

Dear J,

I am sorry about the last time; I shouldn’t have talked you into taking that stuff.  
_Talked you into that? Asshole, you barely said anything but just ‘trust me’, which I did, by the way._  
I didn’t want it to end like that but I had no choice. One of the effects of it is that easygoing attitude and you just say what you got on your mind. I guess you noticed that as well.  
_Aye and how I did, Wayne._  
I don’t know whether that was a good or bad thing  
_me either_  
but I have to accept it. Quite some time ago, per mere accident, I came across that name. It rang a bell and I made some investigations until I saw that face. My heart skipped a beat when I realized it was you. I couldn’t do anything else anymore for the rest of that day but think of your name.  
These days, I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, I can barely work cause I got you on my mind all the time. It’s not supposed to be like that, but I can’t help it. Your name hasn’t put me off, it hasn’t chased me away; it has just served to bind me to you all the more.  
If you can’t stand it I will never say it again; I will play by your rules.

I meant business when I asked you what I could do to show you that I am serious. Love isn’t for the faint-hearted and you can’t fall in love without risking something. It demands unearned trust at first until it is earned. I haven’t made many good experiences with love either, although the TV and news might present the contrary, but I have never gone beyond the surface of a favourite colour or a favourite song. As I said, it was just sex.  
I would lose a large part of my life if you decided not to come anymore. To be honest, I have been struggling for years; at first trying to ignore it, then trying to deny it and finally trying to get it to work out. I think you never realized, but I am very serious about it.

Your name is a promise to me I ought to keep. You can be sure that I will never take your name in vain. I knew about it before our last meeting and I came to see you again. It is just another beautiful thing I discovered among your stubbornness, open-mindedness and passion.  
_He’s figured you out...you’re not so hard to read, after all, are you..._  
I know how hard it is to show your real self. Don’t be disheartened.  
I will always treat it with respect.

\- Bruce

 

These honest words rendered me speechless. I stared at the paper, teeth clenched, overwhelmed by an emotional amalgam of panic, vulnerability and need.  
Jack felt addressed, Jack was burning to get up and visit him and Jack was ready to trust him.  
Just I wasn’t.


	6. The gravity of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Wayne is ready to give more than he can take, just for a man who is at the very beginning of his journey of love and devotion and who just has to learn about the rules of this special relationship.  
> However, Bruce is very willing to teach him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's warnings / spoilers: blood play, pain play, violence, humiliation, hurt/comfort, cock and ball torture, flogging and the usual dominance and submission

**The gravity of love**  
__________

 

4 weeks to go.  
During these four weeks, I would manage to get used to him knowing my real name. I had to, because I knew that I had no choice, having consented to him marking me.  
Somehow, I was glad he had done that, since I couldn’t escape that way anymore. No more running. I would have loved to run; to leave the town and start another life somewhere else where no one knew my name, but that also meant committing treason. I was done violating my own honour. In that respect, at least.

He forced me to come to terms with it; by now I was sure that it had been part of his strategy, calling my name. He wanted to see how far he could go. Well, I wanted to see that as well, but I knew he wouldn’t give me his head. Not yet, at least.  
Or he wanted to liberate me, having noticed someone else lurking inside of me, waiting to be released when it was safe.  
Either way, I had to accept it. These thoughts were untypical for me and my insane ego side was going through hell, yet, my self was melting under the mere thoughts of him. 

It was time to lock the crazy up and let the other take over. I had had my fun for long enough, robbing banks, killing people, blowing up the weirdest things for fuck’s sake and nothing else and now I was tired.  
Just tired.  
Because it wasn’t enough.

I’d offer him my past. Whatever he knew or meant to know about me, I could live with it as long as he wouldn’t use it against me. If he kept silence about it I could live with it.  
Sooner than expected, I had settled with him knowing my name. And that scared me. We had always been close and now I realized that I had never noticed how close I had allowed myself to be to him.

Four weeks later, I got dressed in a fine black suit and a purple shirt. I didn’t feel comfortable to go there without a mask; I regretted having thrown it out of the window back then in my confusion. Enough that he knew who I was; I didn’t need the others to know that as well. So I had gone down to the toy shoppe in the neighbouring district and had gotten me another one.  
The same again; a Volto where I removed the mouth area so that I could talk and drink. I had painted it in checkerboard black and white again.

When my driver knocked on the door I stepped outside and joined him. I was calm, knowing that he would not say that name again. My reaction had been obvious and much telling and he had sent me that letter. And I trusted him. I had to.

______________

 

When I entered the castle a Bauta made me understand that I were to follow him instead of entering the ritual hall.  
Without any objections, I followed him, knowing that it was about him. We headed down the stairs and stopped in front of a door. He opened it for me and I entered; it was the room where we had gone to after the ritual. The Bauta stepped back and waited outside.  
A body lay on the round kind of bed where I had been lying months ago. Red weals were covering the back, blood seeping from some of them. The scars, the muscles…

I swallowed, recognizing him. Worries and fear pushed any other thoughts out of my mind. The moment I started to move a shadow materialized. A man with a long, black cape and a simple black mask looked at me. The Bauta.

“What…”

“He came to us, voicing a wish.”

I looked at him again. No sign of life. The beauty, violated so shamelessly, drove me crazy.

“What happened?” I demanded to know, unable to hide the anger in my voice.

“His wish was uncommon. Quite special. We opened negotiations and finally agreed on the sacrifice.”

“What sacrifice?!”

Rage and a premonition were choking me. I couldn’t stand the sight of my man lying there, hurt and troubled.  
The Bauta traced along his flank, slowly. A twinge of jealousy made me clench my teeth. He was doing that on purpose, I was well aware of that; I just didn’t know why he was doing that.  
His fingers slid between his ass cheeks and rubbed his anus. I breathed deeply, holding myself back from jumping at his throat.

“We had to prepare him.”

Memories of my own ‘preparation’ forced themselves upon my consciousness.

“You…”

Another glimpse at the shredded skin on his back made me lunge at him in silent anger. I ripped the mask off his face and hit his cheek so hard that he fell down.  
I didn’t care; I would leave the castle deliberately, I wouldn’t tolerate that at all. I took my mask off and threw it away as well.

“You’re just a bunch of sick libertines with no respect for the individual!” I yelled at the man in front of me.  
He was about forty, fine features and though, edgy somehow; black hair neatly combed back, black eyeliner framing his eyes. I didn’t know him. I just had expected the chief of sin to be somewhat older and uglier.  
He inspected his cheek with his hand, feeling for fractures. I hoped I had shattered his cheek bone. He took a deep breath, then got up.

“We know that your compassion, Mister Joker, is very limited. We wanted to see whether it is sufficient for this.”

I didn’t understand any of that. All I knew was that my man was lifelessly lying on that bed, bruised and abused.

“For what?!” I shouted at him, barely able to keep myself from punching his face again.

“Whether you are worth it.”

Me?  
That was enough.  
The moment I attempted to jump at him again two hands grabbed my arms and held me back. They twisted them behind my back and forced me down on my knees. I snorted at the Bauta, who obviously didn’t even have the guts to talk to me alone. I watched him opening his mouth, testing whether something was broken.

“I said I would make up for it,” I hissed, showing him the most derisive smirk I could just produce right now.

The man took his mask from the floor and hid his face again. Then he came closer and the men forced me to get up. I looked straight into the eyes of the Bauta.

“I would punish you for that if it wasn’t his duty to do so.”

“Fuck you”

I got a slap in the face, less than I could take but more than I was ready to take from this man. I could see the amusement in his eyes. He had to be sick in order to lead this bunch of pathological rapists. To bring him back down to earth I spit on his mask. If I were to perish I’d do that in style.  
A punch to my midriff and I was down on my knees again. Those were childish games, a struggle for dominance, but I was determined to win that game. Panting hard, I peered up at the black, emotionless mask. 

“Enough now”

His voice filled the room. The Bauta took a step to the side and I saw my man standing there. Confidence, authority, beauty.  
The Bauta nodded and I was lifted up and left to stand on my own feet. A little shaky from the blow to my stomach I shifted, trying to not show any sign of weakness in front of that loathsome man.

“I can’t see what makes him like you,” the Bauta mumbled and passed me, “just an obstinate freak…a disgrace for any master.”

He left.  
I loudly exhaled my anger and turned to face my man.  
What was that look in his eyes? Something was wrong. He came closer.

“It was a test.”

His voice was calm, no hint of pain or anguish. I didn’t quite understand.

“What?”

“I had to make sure.”

“Of what?”

“That you’re serious about this.”

“Me, serious?!” 

Unbridled anger flooded me again and I wanted to attack him as well, but I was pressed against the wall, my jaw between his fingers.

“I’m your master and I can do what I please,” he snarled; anger showing in his eyes.

Something broke.  
Without me knowing, something broke. I was overwhelmed with emotion, an unpleasant chaos of anger, woe and inferiority complexes. We had been a couple, hadn’t we been? Two people, bound to each other. What had made him cheat on me?

“Why didn’t you ask _me_ to whip you if you need it so badly?” I hissed at him.

I could barely talk, holding back the tears. That man drove me mad. I didn’t know how to handle something like this. I had trusted him, I had shown him about my feelings more clearly than I had ever wanted to and I had thought that he felt the same. Only that had made me open up.

“I thought you weren’t into that.”

His words hurt so much, more than I could take. I clenched my teeth, he let go and I turned to the side to hide my pain. In the end, it had just been about sex. It was embarrassing, I didn’t want him to notice it. I had put him in a position where he could approach me, yet, where he also could easily hurt me. I’d never do that again. But now, it was too late. I’d go down with him and in one last attempt to reach him I spilled my misery: “But…”

“But what”

“But I am your…”

Fingers turned my head so I had to face him again.

“My what?”

Affectionate eyes sought to calm me down.

“Your…”

I lost track. His attitude had changed completely; he had acted in such a hostile and strange way that his tenderness confused me now. Loving eyes looked at me the way he did when we were close. I didn’t understand any of what was going on right now.  
Eventually, I got aware of the intensity of this moment and turned my head away, feeling vulnerable again. I wasn’t ready to show that side so deliberately when I was already hurt.

“I have voiced a wish, but it is not what you think it was.”

The pain turned into anger, finally. I was sick of being a pawn in the hands of these men. They pushed me from one side to the other, drowned me, raised me up just to drag me down again.

“I’m sick of being your toy, all of you, you darned sadists. For you, it’s just about sex and nothing else!”

I wanted to leave but he didn’t let me. His look changed.

“I love you more than I want to admit,” he whispered into my ear, his hand grabbing my chin firmly again, his voice sending a shiver down my spine, “I needed to know about your feelings.”

His words were the glue for the cracks.

“I wanted to make sure.”

He was as incompetent as I. Insecure, afraid and damaged by past experiences. I wondered whether we could ever establish a healthy relationship at all.  
Fingers caressed my cheek and made me melt. I’d have lost the world.

“I’m sorry about this.”

As far apart as we had been a moment ago, gravity made us move closer again.  
The gravity of love.  
I indulged in his touch, feeling warmth and security returning. I would have forgiven him anything. Truly anything, if he just returned to me.

“What was your wish then,” I replied with a monotonous voice.

“Uncommon and quite special for someone in my position.”

He did that on purpose.

“I’ll show you.”

With that, he turned around and picked up my mask, showing me his back again. The bloody weals on his back made me cringe. 

“Was that the sacrifice?”

“I couldn’t help it,” he said, giving me the mask, “they insisted on it. I tried hard, but they wouldn’t agree on anything else.”

“Who’s done it?”

“So you can hit him as well?”

Boundless jealousy and the craving for absolute ownership claimed my thoughts. Imagining that sick bunch of Bautas whipping him and jerking off to that sparked an all-consuming fire in me and I couldn’t think of anything else anymore.  
I gripped his shoulder and pulled him closer for a bruising kiss. I had to mark him. He was my and only my property. He let it happen. When I tasted blood I was satisfied.  
That was the moment when I felt lust rising at the thought of him being whipped. The sounds he would make. How he would twist and writhe. _I_ was up for a little test now.

“Did you enjoy it?”

Defiantly, I looked at him, expecting the truth. He licked the bleeding spot on his lip, glancing at my eyes for a moment before he set to leave the room.  
No, I wouldn’t let him walk out on me now. I took his wrist and pulled him back. 

“Did you enjoy it?” I asked insistently.

His eyes were about to swallow me. I could see a turmoil of emotions smashing his self.

“I did it for you”

Again, he attempted to leave but I tightened my grip.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

He closed his eyes and tilted his head. When he opened them again he looked troubled.

“I thought of you. I enjoyed that. But I didn’t enjoy that man doing it. It was wrong, I…”

He looked up at me, searching for help. The authority was gone, the self-confidence in ruins.  
I reached behind his back and touched the weals. He flinched and I abandoned myself to the pleasure that sight caused. I definitely was up for switching. If there was something I was good at then it was causing torment. A broad smirk twisted my lips and saved the situation.  
I tore at the sore skin and he groaned in pain, catapulting me straight into arousal. He was mine and I would claim him for me only. Yes, I was obstinate and only still alive because of that.

“Did they tie you up?”

My hand was resting on a sore spot; he looked at me with pleading eyes. I knew exactly how far I could go. Maybe I was a bloody neophyte at interpersonal dealings, but there was a field where I was very experienced in. I could easily see the limits of a person; I had a feeling for their breaking points.

“They tied me to a cross.”

The thought of that stirred my blood. Our roles had changed completely.

“And then?”

“He whipped me.”

“With what?”

“With a cat.”

The sound of the leather hitting his skin sent me into ecstasy; a sensual orgy. I kissed him again, moving my hand up and down his back, making him gasp into my mouth. I felt resistance.

“Accept it,” I whispered into his mouth, “let it flow. Give in to your shadow.”

I tore at one of his wounds and his muscles tensed up. I’d teach him.  
My anger having turned into wild lust, I grabbed some strands of his hair and pulled him back into a kiss again. My tongue pushed through his lips and he responded, finally, passionately kissing me back.  
Time stood still and we touched eternity.

Purified, we let go.  
He was breathing hard, looking quite lost. I knew the shock of that force breaking lose for the first time. It had been seething in his subconscious. His eyes searched for mine, looking for steady ground. I gave him that, being experienced in getting lost and accepting it.  
There was so much love in his eyes that I barely could take it. It was a dangerous game. But I had always been courageous enough to adapt myself to new situations.

While we kept looking at each other, sharing that moment, I realized that I was just as responsible for him as he was for me. I wasn’t just a passive thing, shambling along behind him, taking what he gave me; I was an active partner who had to be concerned about the well-being of his partner as well.  
I jerked when a shadow entered the room. Another one of those indefinite, masked men serving the Bauta. I had no clue why he had come to us, yet, he seemed to know why. He took a bundle of black fabric from him and the masked man left again.

Without looking at me, my man fetched his mask from the bed and put it on, together with a long, black cape with a hood. It covered most of his body, yet, leaving the front of him delicately visible. He picked up my mask and gave it to me.  
I had learned not to ask when I felt that I were not to ask what that was about so I put it on and lifted my head to be leashed.

“Not today,” he said, then turned and left the room.

What was wrong? There was something in the wind. This hadn’t been the end of it all yet.  
I followed him downstairs, deeper into the belly of the castle to a lonely, long corridor lit by candles. He stopped for a moment and I waited patiently. I wished to know what was troubling him, what he was thinking, but I knew I had to accept it, whether I knew it or not. Finally, we crossed the corridor and entered a round room, similar to the one where I had been marked. He closed the door behind us.

A leather-coated footstool was placed in the middle of the room and a leather sofa two meters behind.  
He went to the sofa and removed the cape and the mask and beckoned me to do the same. 

Holding something in his hand, he came closer. I couldn’t tell what it was. Yet, I noticed his nervousness.

“Will you finally tell me what we are up to this time?”

I tried to break the silence and encourage him to share his troubles with me. He had difficulties putting that into words. 

“Last time...I had the feeling that,” he licked his lips, “it’s not enough. And you just showed me that it’s not enough.”

I didn’t interrupt him because I could see that he was feeling insecure and vulnerable. Something big was on the way, I could tell that much.  
His body was the only spot of colour in this room, everything else was black. My libido told me to take him and just suck him off but my reason told me to stay calm and listen to his words, no matter how obscure they were.

“I said we’re bound to each. But we aren’t.”

What the-

“So I will let myself be marked by you as well.”

My blood gathered in my toes and left my head empty within a second.  
What had he just said...what had he just talked about?

“What?”

“We’ve got the rings, but I’m not playing by their rules, I am playing by my own rules. Go along, do what you please. I am yours.”

Along with these words, he offered me a jack knife. I glanced at the knife, then searched for his eyes again. Objections futile.  
I looked at the knife again. A feeling of proudness crawled into my brain. Megalomania.  
He.  
Thinking of marking him thrilled me terribly.

He would never look at any other man or woman the way he looked at me again. I would be his lover and he would be mine, bound by blood. The thought filled me up, made we feel whole. As much as that pleased me, I wanted to stretch it. So I took the knife from his hand and moved my thumb down the blade, testing its sharpness. It drew blood immediately. I grinned.

“You are ready to dispense with your first class melon-tits chicks, your sluts and cocksuckers? For someone like me?”

I wanted to hear it, I needed to hear it.  
He inhaled deeply, gave me a look which made the blood ascend from my toes again and then fell down on his knees. Better than words.  
I felt light-headed, rapt with the beauty of that man who managed to wake the bats in my stomach. It had always been me submitting and serving him and now I had him on his knees, looking up at me. That sight sent me over the edge; mindfucks forever.

His hands were resting on his thighs, his pleading eyes, waiting for me to take care of him. Drunk with delight, I lifted my leg and pushed my toe inside his mouth. He complied immediately by lifting his head and supporting my leg with a hand.  
Darn, what a feeling, what an image, what a man.  
When he started licking my toes I closed my eyes and pressed my thumb against the blade, drawing more blood. Biting down on my lower lip I left that place, concentrating on the feeling his tongue left on my toes, feeling his lips touching them, his fingers caressing my heel.

When I was sure I was as hard as he was I opened my eyes and let my foot slide from his mouth, down over his chin, further down his chest and stomach. When I arrived at his dick I let my toes rest on the tip, flexing them and making him shudder.  
I could get used to that, topping him. However, I knew that I wouldn’t get the chance to do so anytime soon again. 

Grinning from ear to ear, I left his dick and kicked his head so hard that he fell to the side. He could learn one or two things by watching me.  
We were very different. While he enjoyed doing these things to me to establish and cement his role I did these things to him to lose myself in it. The power, the violence, control. I could get drunk on it. Probably, he was the better top, still being in control of his feelings when he was doing me.  
Control...

His hair covered his eyes but I knew that he didn’t misunderstand me. He wouldn’t. His total submission affected me deeply all of a sudden. Me, the reckless mass murderer. That was one side of me but not the only side of me. With him, I could be someone else. I could be honest without fearing to be laughed at. He offered me the safe space, the comfort zone I needed in order to be myself.  
Playfully, I touched his dick again with my toes, making it bob up and down.

“So, you love me?”

And how I got drunk on that.  
He ran his shaky fingers through his hair but still didn’t look up at me.

“Yes...”

I closed my eyes and smirked, savouring the unconditional devotion. I wanted to stretch that moment to eternity. With the blade pressed against my thumb again, still drawing blood, I stepped behind him and knelt down. He didn’t change his posture but he soon would.  
I gripped the knife firmly and perforated the surface of his skin with a light cut. He tensed up but said no word.  
I cut deeper, making the skin covering his ribcage leak blood. He inhaled sharply but otherwise, remained calm. 

Pursing my lips in pleasure, I pierced the tender skin under his ribcage, shoving the blade inside his flesh, but just a few centimetres. He jerked and gasped and it was like he was taking me in his mouth. Those sounds, imagining the pain I was causing him. I twisted the knife and he writhed but stayed where he was.  
Following another notion I pulled the blade out of his body and stuck it into his mouth. He froze, completely. Pressing it against the corner of his mouth I leaned against the back of his head with my forehead. His hair smelled like soil.

With my other hand, I traced down his stomach and finally closed my fingers around his dick which drew a muffled moan from him. I removed the blade from his mouth and let it slide over his chin and further down his throat and chest, now adding more pressure so that it cut his skin in a fine, straight line, down from his throat to his navel. If he belonged to me I could do to him what I pleased; after all, he had been doing that to me as well.  
I craned my neck and peered over his shoulder to see the blood and that sight made me close my eyes for a moment.

Another cut across his stomach which drew blood. I pressed my thumb against it and made our blood meet.  
My own pain and the sight of that red liquid hypnotised me and I firmly gripped his dick. Thoughts of cutting it off flashed through my mind, how the blood would spill from it, the total despair which couldn’t be more profound. I left our bloody embrace and moved the blade down, piercing the side of his dick. He flinched again but let it happen and I lost myself to delicate fantasies centering around his dick and that knife. The warm blood seeping on my fingers, bathing them in life, so warm and so precious, the blood of a man who’d give everything to just touch me.

He winced and gave a cry of pain and I opened my eyes and dropped the blade reflexively. His body was quivering and I just noticed now that he was sweating heavily. With a pang of panic I got up to see what I had done. I stepped in front of him and knelt down; he was still facing the floor, not looking up at all.  
Blood, so much blood dripped on the floor. Too much. Petrified, I stared at the small puddle of red gathering on the floor.  
Why hadn’t he said no? Why hadn’t he gotten up? Why hadn’t he pushed me away in my frenzy? He must have noticed my altered state, why had he chosen to endure it?

“Bruce?” I asked, for the first time pronouncing his forename. It left me even more confused, triggering fear and the need to run, as always, when we were getting closer. 

He finally looked up at hearing his name; confusion, absent-mindedness and turmoil was in his eyes but he was directly looking at me. His hand was clutching at his balls, blood seeping through his fingers.  
Like in trance, I stared at his crotch, feeling sorrow and woe choking me. I thought I had been used to that stuff, making people bleed and despair and now that sight was one single nightmare. With shocked eyes I looked up at him and caught his. Eventually, I remembered that I was the one in control right now and I moved in to embrace him. If he let me.

He didn’t reject me; he leaned in as well. His body was cold. Gently, I pushed his head against my neck and pressed his body against mine, trying to calm him, or myself, I didn’t quite know what I wanted.

What kind of man was he that he would have accepted death by my hands as a last consequence? Blinded by his devotion, I choked back the tears. He left me raw and sore. It needed to be taken from me, that blade, that responsibility, that all.  
I tried to draw back but he clung to me.

“Let it flow. Give in to your shadow,” he whispered into my ear.  
My words. They must have stung when I had said them to him as much as they were tearing at my confidence now.  
Educational pain.  
His cheek was pressing against mine, both wet from sweat.

No, that man didn’t accept death readily; he’d take at least another man with him. I stayed for another moment until I withdrew from our embrace, feeling nausea rising. Distance, some distance; he was too close when I was in such an exceptional state.  
He noticed my trouble and he took my face in his hands and just held it, forcing me to look at him.

Steady, brown eyes, intently and attentively staring at me, touching me gently and calling me. I should have been the one calming him.  
I had not wanted to do that. That had not been my plan.  
When I was able to think close to straight again I turned my head and he let go. My gaze hit the knife on the floor. Without spending another thought on that, I took it and looked into his eyes again, getting me the ok I finally needed. I had to finish what I had started, no matter what I had and had not done.  
He closed his eyes, longer than a blink, and when he opened them they looked as calm and indulgent as before.

“Sit down”

I spread his legs then and placed the tip of the knife on the inside of his thigh. My hand was shaking from guilt.  
No complaint.  
I gave him a horizontal cut, about 2 centimeters long, then cut his skin vertically and added a slanting line. He held still, putting up with the pain in silence.  
Looking at what I had done pulled me back down to earth finally. I was in charge, I was responsible for this man and I would never forget that again.

Mesmerized by the blood seeping from the fresh cuts I was just in danger of losing myself to that sight again but I looked up just in time to escape that sick spell.  
He accepted it. Wordlessly, he accepted what I had done. No reproach, no regret, no disgust. If he accepted that side of me he would easily accept any side of me. That thought made me smile faintly. I could just be who I was.

“It’s alright,” he whispered into the dark between us.

He had held still to teach me. He knew about his limits and he knew about the sacrifice he would give for someone he loved, but I didn’t know. By bearing me, he taught me about myself. I felt like a child again, back to the days when I was young, conquering Gotham, knowing shit about life and believing that I could rule the world. Meanwhile, my world had dwindled to a room in an abandoned house, at least with electricity, yet, not much more than that. A hole-in-the-wall, mirroring the state of my mind.

Boldly, I reached for the deep cut across his balls and covered my fingers in blood. He didn’t need to understand; he should just accept it.  
With a million of thoughts on my mind, I stared at my hand. I had barely cared about anything, barely breathed, barely lived. And now there was someone who was willing to put up with me, with all of me after I had shown him about my most loathsome side.  
Bruce Wayne got up and fetched the cape, knelt down again and wiped my hand clean.

“It’s just blood,” he whispered, avoiding eye-contact.

“It isn’t.”

“It is what you want it to be,” he said, cleaning himself with the cape as well. Some of the blood had dried already and couldn’t be wiped away that easily.

He put the cape on his shoulders, got his mask and left the room, leaving me sitting in hell, but I was thankful for a few private moments anyway to digest that. Fine tendrils of those nasty thoughts which questioned me being worth that at all were about to proliferate in my prefrontal cortex when I saw the blood on the floor again.  
I didn’t understand him; it was a miracle to me how someone could just put up with me. But I was about to accept it. Like him, I didn’t need to understand everything, I just had to accept it.

When he came back after about ten minutes he had his scrotum patched up. The other cuts wore no patches; he even seemed to proudly present them. Realizing that made me feel more confident again and I got up. He stepped closer until we were almost too close for my taste. He had done his hair; it was combed back again and his face looked fresh and unspent. I must have looked like a wreck compared to him now.

“Remember that this is _your_ body as well,” to stress that, he put his hand on his chest, “I did not let me get marked by you to _tell_ you what to do with it.”

Silence. The full meaning of his words revealed itself to me just slowly.

“Neither did _you_ get marked to tell _me_ what to do with yours. Got it?”

Somehow.  
His lips closed over mine and kissed me gently but passionately.  
What was going on inside him that he didn’t hold my extraordinarily egoistic and ruthless behaviour against me? His tongue moved over my teeth and I kissed back, finally understanding that there was a more powerful and effective weapon than hate and fear ever could be. I wanted to learn how to use it and he surely was a good master.  
Bound by blood and bound by affection we let go, having renewed our trust. 

He went to the sofa to get my clothes and I got dressed, then I bared my neck for him to leash me but he refused to do so. Instead, he took the collar from my neck, put it on himself and handed me over the leash. I was about to protest, longing for my slave position and dropping all responsibility again, but he took my hand and closed my fingers around the end of it. 

“Not yet,” he said and I knew that I were not to object. He didn’t need a cane to teach me.  
After a moment, I had settled with continuing my role and I thought about what to do next. There was plenty of time.  
Well, I wanted to show them, I wanted to show everyone about my hot stuff so I decided to accept it and show him around. They should see every of his cuts, they should see his broken body and they should see the mark, everything of that and they should understand that it had been me doing that to him as much as they understood that the mark on my thigh was done by him.  
In love.

“Put on your mask,” I commanded and he did so and although it hid most of his face I could see that something had changed. The vacant look, casted in black plaster was there, yet, his eyes twisted it into a gesture of total submission.  
Now I would finish him off.

We left and went to the hall with the champagne glasses. Many looks hit us. Everyone knew that weird couple by now since we always stood out like a sore thumb, whatever we did. Some laughed at him, some turned around to whisper and speak ill of him. I hoped very much that he would notice their maliciousness. To make sure, I turned my head to take a look at him; he was walking along behind, his hard-on visible since the cape didn’t cover everything, his head bent slightly. His expression, as much as I saw of that, told me that he was experiencing something precious: embarrassment.

Everyone should know that he was as much my slave as I was his.  
Burning shame. Jack left the stage and made way and I was caught up in dark fantasies and pleasures again. Embarrassment and humiliation, that was what turned me on, whether I was the addressed one or the one who inflicted it.  
Someone laughed to my right. I had never seen that man, yet, he seemed to know us as well.

When we finally had reached the hall I went straight to the buffet and gave him a glass. Since we were in public again we couldn’t speak anymore, but he knew that he were to drink it anyway. When he was to take the third glass he looked up at me, hesitating.  
I grabbed his jaw and violently pulled him closer, glaring at him. 

“Drink,” I whispered with an angry voice.

He took the glass and did so. I was sure that he was aware of the effects that overdose would have were going to be painful and the thought alone made my dick press against my pants in joyful anticipation.  
When I had taken a glass myself I dropped him on one of the sofas and left. I could feel his helpless look following me out of the room and I chuckled, having left Bruce Wayne, mind you, an anxious, desperate Wayne, behind.  
I took my time to stride along the corridor and get the needed things from the armoury and with a bag full of specialties I returned.

He was still sitting there, his head bent and his cape covering his front side. I couldn’t accept that. After I had placed the bag on the floor I took the seam of the cape and bared his body again. I could feel the discomfort oozing from him, but he complied, knowing that I would punish him as much as he did when I didn’t comply.  
Without ceremony, I gave him a cock ring and beckoned him to put it on. Since his dick was tremendously hard already it meant quite some work for him to put it on but he managed, just to be given a ball ring as well.

Silent protest reached me and I knelt down, straddled his legs and closed the ring around them. The moment it went shut he flinched, feeling the spikes piercing the tender skin. I took care so that it wouldn’t hurt him more than it was supposed to. He wasn’t used to bottoming, but I was sure he’d enjoy it as much as I did, would he just accept his pleasure.  
Finished just in time because the drink was going to show its effects soon. To make sure it would kick in at the right time I sat down and waited another ten minutes before I got up and took the leash. He got up as well and I took the cape from his shoulders.

Big eyes stared at me in shock. There was nothing hiding him from the world anymore but a small black piece in his face. Bruce Wayne lost a few centimetres in height at that. With begging eyes, he tried to convince me of getting his cape back at least, but I bluntly put it into the bag and forced him to follow me. He lost himself in that new role as much as I was losing myself in my topping role.

Yet, not even I had been forced to wander around naked in the castle, but I was something else, expert in human degradation and humiliation. I could teach him. And I wanted to see how far I could go in public. What would he be ready to endure for me? Was there a limit? Was he sane enough to have a limit for his love?  
Because it didn’t matter whether there would be one; I wanted to see what his limits were. He’d show me.

I searched for the room with the cosy chairs and sofas. Red pillows and golden legs. Various devices and instruments like a pillory or a cage were lined at the wall, rollable so they could be moved to whatever place they were needed in. I decided for something resembling a gym machine, similar to a treatment couch for massages and the sort, knowing that that thing would grant me the pose I’d need for my game.

I let go of the leash and moved the thing to the middle of the room. Expectant eyes followed me, just not those of my man. He was staring at the floor in embarrassment. Eyes traced along his scars, astral fingers touched his already tortured balls and ghostly lips closed around his swollen glans. He could barely resist the effects of the drinks, restlessly shifting, eyes searching for some comfy spot on the floor. 

I led him to the machine and guided his body when he lay down. His legs were spread and his ankles tied to the metal, his hands tied to the other end of the device. His cock was delicately towering above the scenery, turning slightly purple. Everything about that man, even that tinge of colour got me to wallow in lust. He was breathing heavily by now; I could see that he was struggling against it all still and just now realizing that he could never win. A fight of a desperate man who had lost already, yet was brave enough to fight on. Or stupid enough.

Some people gathered around us and that just served to embarrass him even more.  
One word would have ended it. One look would have made me stop. We knew each other a bit by now but certainly not enough as to know about unpredictable drops, so I held close contact with his eyes. We talked in silence, assuring each other of our trust and finally, he relaxed his arms let go.  
It was amazing what effects a slight hint of care could have. It was a constant play of distancing by dominating and torturing him and getting close again by showing him that I cared about his feelings and sensations.

Yes, I could be sensuous as well as sensible. I could read people when I just wanted to do so and I could manipulate them and get them to do what I wanted. But I could also be considerate. I had always believed that trait to be a sign of weakness, a lack of self-confidence when I would show consideration for others. He made me discover the liberating aspect of consideration. Somehow, it felt good to administer to the needs of someone who meant something to me. The acknowledgement and the thankfulness filled me up. It was a different kind of happiness. And I had to act that out.

I couldn’t resist the urge to kiss him. Eyes fixed on him, I went to the head rest and bent down to kiss him on his mouth. He readily accepted it and kissed me back.  
The marks were still leaking blood.  
The kiss, first timid, now turned into a passionate embrace of our lips. The fire of jealousy was still burning inside me and I wanted everyone around us to know that he was unavailable. To stress that, I put a finger on the mark for everyone to see. His breath hit my cheek fitfully; the intensity of emotions he was feeling must have been unbearable.

“Time for lunch,” I whispered into his ear and a smirk returned to my lips.

I checked the bag for the utensil, then straightened myself and waited for him to realize what I was up to. Turmoil spread in his eyes.  
I raised my hand and scourged his dick with the flogger. He gave a yelp of pain and tried to bend his legs but they were safely tied to the couch. Teasingly, I let the leather straps cover the tip of his dick and tickle it. He turned his head to the side, panting and swallowing some times. I did that too when I had to cope with severe pain; it seemed to help, somehow. Or at least it gave me the impression of help.

I moved the straps down and let them fall on his balls. He knew what that meant. His thighs tensed up, such a delicate sight. Well-trained, as hard as rock. Speaking of which...  
Again, I reached out and hit his balls. The reaction was the same and I did it another five times, one lash quickly following the other, not giving him any time to recover from a blow before the next one came.

His body was one single tense muscle, shaking, sweating, quivering in pain and lust. I searched for his eyes. When he was done squinting them in torment he searched for mine as well and they met.

Endless love.

So much and so intense that I couldn’t deal with it, causing me to feel fear. I flogged his dick once again and he squinched his eyes shut but remained silent. In a mix of fear and anticipation, I stared at his closed eyes, waiting for him to open them again and show me in all honesty what he felt.  
And he opened them and they were full of love.  
I was breathing hard now as well and I reached out again, yet hesitated and took a step back. Shocked, I stared at him.  
How could he.

My arm sank down and he stared me into paralysis.  
Suddenly, the flogger was taken from my hands and a man prepared to whip him.  
Within a second, burning rage flooded my brain and I turned to him and grabbed him by his throat, eyes big and gritting my teeth. I could feel the blood pulsating in my veins and I squeezed tightly, making him reach for my fingers and gasp.

“You dare...” I hissed and he dropped the flogger.

I kept him another second, then dropped him and he sank to the floor. People looked at me expectantly. I licked my lips and looked around. Hypocritical, shallow minds. That was my moment, the audience was here.

“If anyone,” I started, making my voice sound as possessive and demanding as possible, which wasn’t hard, in fact, since I felt like bursting from possessiveness, “dares to touch him again he’s a dead man. If anyone,” I continued, raising my voice threateningly, “lays hand on him once again he’s a dead man. And if anyone thinks he can come and make eyes at him, guess what.”

The bulge in my pants was undeniable. Everyone saw that. My words were weighing down on them, the air was thick and dense.  
I was his slave, everyone knew that, but I was also his partner, not just his slave. In order to get rid of my agitation I kicked the man on the floor in his guts.

“You may be whores, swinging and swapping your partners as you please, but we,” I stopped to take a breath, “we are above you. This man is mine. I own him and he owns me.”

It was silent.  
Consternated faces, amused looks, confused eyes, but all of them silent, hanging on my lips.  
That was what they wished for. And what they never could have. Love, so deep that it moved mountains.  
And Jack.

I licked my lips again, noticing that my agitation had not faded at all and that I would need a different means to calm myself. I pursed my lips and started to undress in front of them.  
When I was naked, when they all could see that my skin was as white as the moon, I dropped my mask and showed them what they long knew anyway. No one said a word.  
I turned around and found him looking at me, his expression unchanged, an invitation.  
A plea.  
He closed his eyes and opened them again, savouring the sight. That was Jack, fighting heaven and hell for love.

I climbed the rack and took off the ball and cock ring. He gasped and threw his head back. I could understand that it was too much for him.  
Slowly, I sat down on his dick, pressing it against my sphincter and slightly past it to get used to it. I’d need him inside; not just in my mouth but fully inside me, where he belonged. I enjoyed that feeling so much, the pressure, the first moments of getting it inside when it hurt slightly and already filled you up so pleasantly.  
His tip disappeared in my ass all at once and I groaned, feeling the pain turning into pleasure.

“I can’t hold back,” he whispered with a shaky voice, helpless eyes piercing me and giving me a pang in my guts. That man was even more beautiful when he was desperate.

“You don’t need to,” I said, bringing a hand to my hard-on and giving it a few pumps. No, I wouldn’t need much to come either; that foreplay had served to make me leaky already.  
Power. What a thing.  
Tentatively, I moved a little down on his dick to see whether I could already take him in. He clenched his teeth.

“Ready when you are,” I whispered and he lay down and closed his eyes.

Breathing rapidly, I sat down on his dick and drew a loud moan from him. I had missed that so much; one month between our meetings had served to make me thirst for his sounds and looks.  
I moved up and down a few times and he was already out of breath, clenching his fists and tensing his thighs. So was I, ready to cum.

“Let go,” I said affirmatively and started to move again. All eyes were turned on us, greedily watching us.

I started moving again and felt my orgasm coming already and I decided to come since maybe that was just what he needed. I grabbed hold of his flanks and steadied myself, preparing myself for a rough time. A quick glance assured him that I was on the verge and I saw a lecherous smirk flashing over his face before he got back to moaning and panting me into ecstasy.

His hard dick slid in and out so easily, it felt like a metal bar, unpliable. The sound my balls made every time I sat down on his dick again and when they met his pubes was an auditory delicacy he seemed to enjoy as much as I did. Eventually, he lifted his head to watch the spectacle taking place around my ass and our eyes met again.

I quickly put my hand over my dick and came, groaning loudly and unashamedly. Hoping that my clenched ass would make him come as well I kept moving until he gave in and came with a stifled moan. His thighs tensed up for one last time and he arched his back, eyes closed, completely retreating into himself.

I kept fucking him and moved to the rhythm of my pants, riding him empty.  
Finally, when he fell down again I stopped moving and wanted to prop myself up on my arms, yet, my hand, slick from my cum, slid and I fell down on his chest with a cry of surprise. Bruce Wayne was busy sorting out his mind and he didn’t mind at all.  
Our bodies were heated and wet from sweat.

When he had gathered his senses together he eyed me up. Somehow, it felt like I was the fucked one and not him. Still, even from this position, he was topping. It was that moment when I understood what my role was.  
Wordlessly, I laboriously rolled from the rack and freed his body, then I took the collar, put it on and waited for him to adjust himself as well. He got the hint and got up on shaky legs, no less shaky than mine, took the cape from the bag and put it on.  
He took a deep breath or sighed, I couldn’t quite tell, then he turned to face me.

Immediately, I felt guilty. These darting eyes ate me up. I wondered whether I had gone too far, but the next moment I realized that we were just back to normal with him as my master and me as his slave.  
He leashed me and I stumbled along and while he left the circle of people he pushed some away with his elbows, making room for us.  
No one said a word, looks followed us.

We left and made ourselves comfortable in a smaller room with an open fire. Some couples were lying on the sofas, caressing each other. He led me to one near the fireplace. I still felt heated up from the sex so I didn’t think it a good idea to lie down there but I had no choice. My chance was gone.  
He lay down and so did I, facing him. Since he was turning his back on the other couples he took his mask off. Beauty. So close, without a mask...but my look had replaced my other mask and had become the one I wore, day in, day out. 

He had said that he never would say it if I didn’t like it. I wasn’t ready for it yet. One day, in the future, he could say it, but not yet.

“Happy now?” he asked me with a brow lifted and a faint, teasing smile.

I didn’t reply but kept looking at him, challenging him with my eyes. Just now I remembered my demeanour half an hour ago when I had pitched a fit at someone trying to touch him.  
No, someone trying to hurt him. Possessiveness returned and I narrowed my eyes.

“I guess I woke something I never should have woken,” he whispered, smirking.

I licked my lips, feeling that agitation seizing me again.

“You wanted proof, I gave you proof,” I snarled.

Our bodies were pressed together, warm and moist, our dicks sharing cum.

“What do you prefer?” he asked, dealing me an amused smile.

“What do you mean?”

“Top or bottom?”

I went silent. I knew that I enjoyed topping just as much; yet, I was aware of myself being not suited for that. During my raids, I enjoyed spilling agony and leaving people behind in tears; I even enjoyed bringing the Bat to his knees. In public, it turned me on to make people suffer, preferably having a large audience witnessing that. That meant fulfilment.  
But this wasn’t a raid. That was someone who mattered to me, as much as I tried to deny it at times when I felt dependent and thus, vulnerable. Denial didn’t change the nature of these feelings nor the intensity.

When I thought of that time today when I had been in control, responsible for his well-being under my guidance, I had to close my eyes. I couldn’t allow these tendencies to influence or even damage our relationship; I was someone who had to be tied up and locked away for the good of himself and others. If I were given the power to do what I pleased together with the opportunity, the means and the victims, I ran amok, I had witnessed that. I was afraid of myself. That was the Joker, doing what he always did and feeding on that power and despair, laughing out loud. The more blood got spilt the happier he was. I had lost myself in that. And it had been an awful experience, in hindsight. Admitted.  
Jack was getting stronger.

“Bottom,” I mumbled into my hair, ashamed of admitting that.

He didn’t smile anymore.

“You?” I asked dryly.

If I was suffering he’d have to suffer a little as well. I could see that a similar train of thoughts was rattling through his brain, but it didn’t take him as long as it had taken me to admit it.

“Just the way we started out.”

“But that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy what happened today,” I added, feeling confident at his honest words. I just needed to remind myself of his letter. However, at the first signs of him making fun of me, laughing at my confessions or refusing my love I’d run. As fast as I could, as far away as I could. And I would never let Jack speak again.

“I know,” he replied.

We looked at each other, sharing a cheesy moment of unison before his smirk destroyed the romance.

“You could have whipped my ass at least,” he said, narrowing his eyes and appealing straight to my crotch.

“Why, they already did so. It was that sick bunch of Bautas, right?”

Anger, coming from the core of my heart since everything else was empty and drained, built up inside me again at the mere thought of that. I missed the fact that he did that on purpose.  
His smirk broadened.

“So I’m right?”

My cheeks were burning.

“Well, yes,” he remarked, sending me into a silent tantrum which made me attempt to get up but he pulled me back and laid down on me, facing me, holding my wrists in place. Our dicks touched again.  
Breathing hard, I glared at him. If I ever got to see them there again I’d forget myself and my position and break their skulls, with greatest satisfaction.

“Yes,” he smiled at me darkly, “this is love.”

“No, this is neurotic possessiveness,” I snapped at him and almost would have bit his lips.

“As I said, love,” he teased me and moved out of reach, gripping my wrists more firmly.

I clenched my teeth, becoming aware of how much I enjoyed that. It was different; it was very different from the feelings I had to endure when I was in power. Being allowed, no, being invited to let myself fall, sometimes even without being able to see the ground of that hole, liberated me. The feelings I had when I topped only shoved my mind deeper into that kind of forlornness I actually tried to overcome so hard.  
I did what I had always been doing, not knowing why. Jumping from buildings, stepping over the edge, hurling myself into an abyss, hidden from view, putting myself in danger and falling.  
That was trust.

I inhaled and prepared to say something, my self-confidence fuelled by his openness and understanding, but I closed my mouth again, being too afraid of voicing it in the end.  
I wasn’t ready for him to pronounce that name yet.  
As he kept staring at me in fascination I became aware of the honest nature of his feelings again.  
It couldn’t have happened to a nicer person.

“Fine,” I gave in.

“Fine what?”

“What you said.”

“Love?”

“Well...”

I’d rather bite off my tongue than admit it.  
He knew that and he just accepted it. When he moved in to kiss me gently on my mouth I almost burst with what I tried to hide from him so hard. Passionately, I kissed back and closed my eyes.

Love.

 

___________________


	7. Defiance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Joker can't wait to see his darling Bat again so he thinks up a glorious plan to lure him into a meeting.  
> The Bat, however, is not so pleased about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter's warnings: violence, sadism, pain kink, anal, asphyxiation

Defiance

 

My plan was as simple as brilliant. Air, colour, wham and done, including a bank and bat. 

I smiled when I sensed his presence. God knew where he knew from my plans; I never told him about them, but I knew that that smelly bitch of Gotham was full of traitors, spies and tipsters. I knew that because I had my own little armada of them. Though, it was like he could read my mind.

Pretending to not have noticed at all, I kept preparing the sachets until his presence became more tangible, almost too tangible. Excited at what would follow, I looked up at the grey metal wall of the vault, smirking.  
Just then, a very painful kick to my left kidney sent me down on the floor on all fours. This started out nicely. I turned around to face him, yet remained seated on the floor.

“Hey there,” I said casually.

The Batman was standing there in full length, height and breadth, silently glaring at me. I had vexed him, apparently.

“Missed me?” I asked, grinning my prime grin.

When my words didn’t have the effect I hoped they’d have I continued.

“Did you jerk off during those two weeks at least, thinking of me?”

He ignored my bold attempt and took a step to the side, looking at the piece of evidence.

“What are you up to?”

“I’ve been asking myself that as well, you know.”

When he started to move, clearly heading for the pallets, I quickly stepped in front of them and he stopped. His eyes shrank to slits; he was clearly annoyed. If he was playing his role then he was playing it well.

“How did you get in there?” he said in his typical vigilante voice.

“I’ve got my ways,” I smirked and snipped my fingers, “How did you get in?”

“Front door.”

“See.”

I could literally see how my manner drove him wild; he pursed his lips and looked me straight in the eye.

“You know, I couldn’t wait till Friday.”

“You could have just rung the doorbell.”

I saw myself in a fine purple suit, hair dripping wet from the heavy rain, holding a bouquet of dark red tulips and smiling like a rocking horse, waiting for the butler to open the door of Wayne Manor. I couldn’t help bursting into laughter, earning me a concerned look.

“Well, no…” I remarked and flicked some lints away from my jacket, still chuckling to myself.

Meanwhile, he had composed himself and approached me. When I looked up he was just a meter away from me and I left the pallets to take a few steps back until he halted. Grinning at him seductively, I encouraged him to take another step, which he did, and I just took one back.  
Another one and another one until my back met the wall. I quite enjoyed bringing myself into those awkward positions; it spurred me on and got me all creative.

Yet, he didn’t stop until our bodies met. One centimetre, just one centimetre in height and I had to look up to meet his eyes. It gave me such an intense feeling that I turned my head to the side to exhale my growing arousal.

“You’re awful,” he whispered, which made me grin again.

“Your choice,” I said into the vacant room in front of me, my pelvis jerking when I felt him pressing against it, but there was no room to dodge him and the substantial argument further down. Our mouths were close and just when I became aware of that I closed my eyes and moved closer to kiss him. He turned away and I opened my eyes in disbelieving surprise. How could my charm not-

His knuckles met my cheek and nose so hard that I would have stumbled to the side, had he not gripped the collar of my shirt. My head whirled to the right and for a second; I felt at home, familiar sensations overwhelming me. I needed a moment to compose myself, then I brought a hand up to my face to check for liquids. The blood on my glove told me that my nose was bleeding. It triggered a broad grin and I looked at him just to take another slap which made my face collide with the wall.

Blood trickled down my nasopharynx and I swallowed by reflex, earning me a coppery taste in the back of my mouth. I was so used to that that it didn’t unsettle me at all.  
Suddenly, while I was still trying to get back to earth, I felt him under my jacket and I twitched, trying to break free from his grip. He went for the gun and I kept struggling and just when he had pulled it out of the holster I kicked his shin and he pulled the trigger.

Blank bang.  
For a moment, the world stood still.  
Just until the pain started to kick in and I gasped, clutching at my flank.

“Sorry,” he said coldly, his voice telling me that he wasn’t sorry at all.

To prevent us from further damage, I reached for the gun, but he just seized my throat and firmly pressed me against the wall. Warm liquid soaked my shirt. A breathy laugh escaped me.

“You don’t really know how to handle guns, do you?” I teased him, unable to resist my familiar role.  
The warmth spread, but I knew that he hadn’t hit anything vital.

“I do”

I clenched my teeth and looked into his eyes, the pain starting to render me unable to think straight. I had often got seriously hurt during our fights, but the adrenaline usually saved me and made me stand it more easily.  
Just when I was about to give in his hand wormed its way past my belt and grabbed my dick.

“Did _you_ jerk off, thinking of me?” he whispered into my ear.  
Within a second, the world shifted and I recognized the thrill of the situation. Grinning at him, I wiped more blood from my lips and gripped his wrist, trying to get him off my throat.

“Answer me!” he commanded and I felt that pleasant sting in my guts.

“It hurts,” I commented casually, again trying to get his hand off my throat.

“It’s supposed to,” he snapped and gave my balls a squeeze.

“Why haven’t we done that before?”

He licked his lips and stroked the underside of my dick, making me press my body against the wall in drunken delight.

“Answer me,” he insisted and loosened the grip on my throat.

“Well, I did,” I confessed, embarrassment fuelling that newly sparked fire of passion.

“Tell me, how.”

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, smirking at the images showing up.

“I woke up at 2am, couldn’t fall asleep anymore so I got up to make coffee.”

“Oh really?” he asked, squeezing my dick.

“Yeah, really,” I replied, feeling heat crawling up my cheeks, “and I just had to think of you. Got me a cock ring and did some wanking till it was all…full and tight.”

The line got blurred; some of my Circle ego butting in and pushing my villain ego aside. I continued though, noticing that he had difficulties keeping these two roles apart as well. 

“Tell me more,” he whispered into my ear and fondled it with his lips, lightly caressing my dick.

“I stroked the tip till it was all red and achy,” I breathed, feeling him doing the same to me right then. I was so hard that I couldn’t think of anything else than getting screwed anymore.  
The warmth had reached my waistline by now and was starting to infect my crotch. He was rubbing the tip of my dick, making me twitch uncontrollably as he teased that so very sensitive spot to the point I felt embarrassed about it.

I tried to dodge his touch but he gripped my dick and squeezed, drawing a moan from me.

“That’s all?” he asked.

I was panting by now, feeling lightheaded from the blood loss, pain and pleasure at the same time.

“Of course it’s not,” I replied, feeling a little overwhelmed by these many sensations.

“So go on,” he said, rubbing his thumb against the urethral orifice which just drove me so mad that I embraced him with a bruising kiss, silencing him. He responded in kind, biting down on my lip and finally pumping my dick. We shared the bloody taste and I groaned into his mouth, knowing that he was more than hard as well. Each of us tried to get the other’s lip between his teeth to draw blood again and I succeeded, biting down on his lower lip which made him groan as well.

He left my dick then and unbuttoned my pants, still keeping me in place with his other hand. When he pulled them down I felt instant relief, my needy parts being freed finally. And within a second, I was facing the wall; he had manoeuvred me around and I just saw and felt grey, cold steel.

“Continue,” he whispered, moving the tails of my coat to the side, baring my ass. I couldn’t help the smirk, thinking of what would happen during the next 30 minutes.

“I got me a rope, made two nooses and put one round my neck, then I lay down, put the other noose past my toes and it went tight,” I continued my fuck story, “…very tight around my neck.”

His breath hit my neck, fitfully and hot, cooling the sweat. When I felt his fingers creeping up around my throat again I continued.

“Then I jerked off, thinking of how you would kneel on the bed, masturbating, groaning, thinking of me…”

His grip tightened again and I felt the blood surging through my veins, troubled by the restriction.

“I thought of the sounds it would make when you pumped your dick,” I whispered, “how your thighs would tense up and how hard they would be…”

I had to stop, feeling close to an untouched orgasm already but he pressed on.

“I’d call your name, thinking of your bruised body, your eyes closed, taking what I’d give you…”

His dick was pressing against my ass, but I wanted to play some more and I didn’t let him enter. When he failed to just bury the tip of his dick in my ass he growled.

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” he huffed into my ear, leaving my throat and pressing my head against the wall.

“I’d rather say _you_ are a pain in the ass right now,” I replied, out of breath, laughing.

He grabbed my hair and dashed my head against the wall so that I lost all body tension for a moment. And he knew me and he seized that opportunity and rammed his dick into my ass.  
Yelling with pain, I tried to curl up, but he held me in place, pressing me against the wall with his hand, chest and iron bar. I gave a desperate laugh, then I tried to deal with that pain silently, forcing myself to keep my mouth shut to deprive him of the pleasure he was out for. My jaw was trembling from that intense sensation and I was struggling for breath, but I wouldn’t let him notice. He wouldn’t get it so easily.

Swallowing hard, I shifted, but it was no use, the burning pain in my backside just got worse.  
No lube and no stretching took their toll, but admitted, I liked it. Half of me was struggling with that feeling like any reasonable man would and half of me was already giving in and transforming it into pleasure. I could feel his breath hitting my ear in fits and he waited for me to make a sound, but I just clenched my teeth and breathed through my nose, smirking at his growing anger.  
He moved closer and his lips touched my ear.

“Am I?” he teased me, licking my earlobe, then gently sucking it.

I loved hearing that low and raspy voice when he was the Bat. It gave me the thrills every time he opened his mouth and having him so close to my ear was just pure pleasure.

“You know,” I panted, “you need to unwind. Always so tight, ah”

He shifted and shoved it in some more and I clenched my teeth, scraping down the wall and getting me a broken nail.

“You should know what you’re talking about there, huh?”

His tongue darted out to explore my inner ear, but I tried to turn my head away since that pain was still troubling me too much than to concentrate on anything else right now.

“Can you just take a step back, you ignorant fuck!” it burst out of me.

I didn’t want him to notice how much I actually liked it because I felt embarrassed; I didn’t want him to know about that yet. However, I feared he already knew about that anyway, but I just wasn’t in the mood for opening up right now.

The distinct sound close to my ear told me that he was baring his teeth, smirking. He nudged my ear, then whispered: “No.”

And to add to my dilemma he dug his nails into my flank and moved inside my ass, making me groan finally. When he pinched my nipple I hissed and switched to the pleasure mode, shamelessly enjoying it.  
He noticed that and when I moved away from the wall to lift my hand he allowed it. I put it on his and made his fingers take the ring of my nipple piercing and pull at it. Groaning with pleasure again, I pressed my body against his, yet, careful not to make his dick slide in further.

He kissed my ear and tugged at the piercing, making me hiss again and follow his movement. Incited by raw lust I brought a hand between me and him and searched for his dick. Half of it was buried in my ass, the other half was just between us. The hardness of it set off an emotional avalanche and I clenched my ass, making him gasp now.

“How did you get so hard?” I teased him, rubbing the upper side of his dick.

“I like it when you’re in trouble,” he replied.

“What a coincidence, I like that too,” I whispered and took another centimeter of his dick in, feeling my muscles stinging at that.

“You’re such a pain whore”

It made me smirk. I could be if I was in the right mood.

“What does that turn you into?” I replied, laying my head back on his shoulder. He was still playing with my piercing, fondling my nipple and moving the ring.

“A giver.”

And with that he buried his dick to the hilt which made me writhe in a terrible mix of pain, despair and passion. Just when I thought that I had given him what he wanted he bit down on my trapezius muscle which would have driven me to my knees, had he not kept me in place. That way, I had no room for ducking away and had to stand it, making me whimper and mewl. It was too much. My flank was on fire, burning and stinging, my ass stretched in a very uncomfortable way and sharp teeth gnawing on my collarbone.

“Then give me a moment,” I hissed and tried to get some distance between me and the wall but he pinched my nipple so hard that I yelled with pain. While I was busy sorting out those sensations his hand slid down my side and a leather-clad finger wormed its way into my flank. The pain made me see stars. Unable to voice anything I opened my mouth in silence and pressed my hands against the wall to keep me from falling.  
Gloved fingers touched my dick and I moved into his touch; helplessly, desperately, overwhelmed by pain. His dick twitched inside my ass.

Finally, I managed to gasp. He moved the finger around, just slightly, but it unleashed hell inside me. I clutched at his hand and tugged at it, dealing me some more pain by doing so.

“Stop it,” I hissed, breathing so hard that my words barely were audible.

His finger left the wound and he stuck it into my mouth. I tasted more blood. His mouth was close to my ear again and I could feel his breath, hot and steady.

“Can’t take what I give you? I thought you had asked for that by coming here,” he whispered, every word being like a whiplash, scarring my brain. I heard him talking but I didn’t really understand what he was saying. For some moments, we remained in that position and I could gather some strength again.

“Yes,” I said with a shaky voice. Only then I noticed that I was clenching my ass and just giving myself a hard time by doing so. When I concentrated on relaxing and finally managed, he breathed into my ear.

“You okay?”

“Of course, “ I replied, my words barely audible. The pain shook my body.

“Good. Then, sing,” he whispered into my ear and bit my lobe so hard that I yelled again. Instantly, those electric pulses turned into lust yet again, seizing my body and I forgot the wound and thrust forward, crashing his hand between my dick and the wall. I heard him chuckling right next to my ear. Panting hard again, I turned my head around and got his upper lip between mine, but he was faster and his mouth went shut before I could do so.

With my lip locked between his teeth, he started stroking my dick again and I jerked every time he moved his hand down. It was an uncomfortable pose, but I deserved it. With his other hand he grabbed a fistful of flesh and squeezed, the pain barely dwindling at all. I was sure he’d leave bruises. My flank went numb.

“You’re giving me quite a hard time today,” I panted.

“You left me no choice,” he hissed and started moving. Every time he moved in again my body hit the wall together with my dick. One of his hands was resting on my ribcage to hold me in place, his other was closed around my throat again. I could hear his pants close to my ear and I closed my eyes to be guided, allowing myself to fall.  
Soon, he tightened his grip and I got short of air, the blood hammering in my head and my ears going deaf, my dick leaking precum. 

His thrusts became even more violent and he squeezed the rest of air out of me, making the adrenaline peak and I came with a silent scream. Cum hit my face and I chuckled, feeling his fingers close to crashing my larynx. That awareness gave me a pang in my guts, which made him cum as well. He pressed his chest against my back and kept moving his pelvis in a fast rhythm, filling me up. Just when I was about to faint I clutched at his hand and he loosened his grip. Losing myself to a coughing fit, which inevitably made me clench my ass as well, I heard him moaning into my ear a few more times before he finally drew back.

I collapsed and sank to the floor, withdrawing my mind from the events, my body aching and shaking. He towered over me, propping his hands against the wall. It was a nice place to stay in, down there. My thoughts broke free and drifted apart; the feeling of cum in my ass, the stinging pain of salt rubbed into the sore flesh, the still blood-leaking hole in my side, my neck gradually recovering, my head throbbing from the lack of oxygen and the strain.

After a few minutes of pitying myself and some strange sounds I felt his hands on my body again and I jerked. I would have liked to get some distance between me and him now, needing more time to gather myself, but he insisted on it. A patch was pressed against the still bleeding spot and he wound a gauze bandage around my ribcage, tightly pressing against the hurt spot so that I gave a wince of pain. He ignored it completely and continued his work in silence.  
It just went on until I was furious, the pain getting to me as much as his wordlessness.

“You content now?” I said breathlessly, the pain numbing my brain.

“You got what you wanted, didn’t you,” he replied with an irritated voice which left me puzzled.  
I looked at his face to tell what was going on, but he just had that neutral ‘I am a serious man, dressed as a Bat but no less dangerous despite that’ look he always kept when he was on a mission. When he tugged at the bandages to fix them I groaned and suddenly felt terribly embarrassed.  
Without any further words he got up and walked away, leaving me behind. 

“Are you kidding me?!” I screamed but instantly held my breath at feeling the wound exploding at the strain.

“Finish what you started. Do your thing and set the world on fire,” he said without turning around. Then, he disappeared. 

I couldn’t believe it. Now that he was gone, I felt the intense need to be hugged. Images of him holding me tight and tenderly stroking my head, soothing the ache, wandered across the fields of my mind. Had I done something wrong? I wasn’t used to that coldness. We had been so close the last time.  
Annoyed at my pathetic response to his cold shoulder I rose my head and screamed: “FUCK YOU!” towards the door.

He had taught me another lesson, leaving me behind shaking and bleeding. I knew that I were not to contact him outside the opening hours of the castle but yet again, like so many times when I got myself in trouble, pride was at the bottom of it. I had wanted to show him that I wouldn’t just be meek and mild about his behaviour only because I was marked as his slave now. But that had backfired. He had been so much more brutal and violent this time and I could feel that he had been out to please himself more than me with his actions.

It was his right since I had consented to being his property. In fact, I had hoped that he would passionately fuck me into bliss but in the end, I had come there as the Joker and he as the Batman and there was no tenderness involved with these roles. Just full contact fights and he had given that to me. Secretly, I might have been hoping for that, getting damaged, receiving injuries which would remind me of our meeting until it was time to get some more at the end of the month.

However, it had not been something he approved of, as he had shown me now.  
Our relationship had changed everything, also the way we’d interact as a clown and bat. I had been a fool to believe that it would be different if we just crashed into each other like that.   
I just could have rung the doorbell.

I sat there for another hour, the pain slowly dwindling until I was courageous enough as to try to get up and by doing so just got me another load. Yet, there wasn’t much time to go anymore; the bank would open in about two hours and I wasn’t into getting arrested and sent to Arkham at all so I had no choice.

I got up despite the raging pain and finished my work, my mind wrapped in cotton wool, soaked with the lightness of utter physical discomfort. When I was done I threw the tools into the bag and left through the back door, wondering what it would be like when we’d meet at the castle again.  
I got me a cab and arrived at my flat when the sun was setting. Glad that I had managed to get home without fainting at all, I smashed the door shut and went straight to bed. I dropped the clothes on the way and just lay down, covered in blood and cum.

The worlds of white sheets and foam felt so good that I gave a sound of pleasure. I touched the bandages, lightly pushing against the wound. He’d get used to me and my ways. I wasn’t someone to give up that easily and to bend to his will so readily. In the end, I still mattered as well, I and my wishes. Sighing, I turned on my back and felt the pain dwindling.  
It didn’t take long and I had fallen asleep.

 

Far away, at the other end of Gotham, the morning post was brought to Bruce Wayne by his butler who was wondering about the strange mindset his master seemed to be caught up in.  
Bruce Wayne took the papers and had a look at them in silence, drinking his coffee.

“Master Bruce, is everything alright?”

He gave a sigh, not being in the mood for big explanations, but he understood that the old man just cared about him and wanted to be of some more help except bringing him the papers like a good dog.

“I don’t know,” he replied, honestly.

“What is it about?” the butler said and sat down in the wing chair.

‘Great’, he thought to himself, having it all made worse by his honesty. Now he’d have to deal with him more than he was ready to. He flicked through the ads section until the butler cleared his throat.

“Alfred, I…” he started out but ditched the sentence he had wanted to say.

The butler looked at him, his forehead in wrinkles. He hated it when his butler did that.

“It was a long night I didn’t really enjoy...somehow.”

“What happened?”

He was sure that his butler had gotten the hint that he didn’t want to talk about it and though, he kept asking. It was his speciality; he’d do that so long until he was totally unnerved and would spill the story in his anger. He tried to breathe calmly and not let him win this time, since the confessions of tonight would ruin everything.  
Just everything.

“I think I got forced to do something I’m not really proud of.”

“Did it include harming others?”

He snorted, thinking of the ambiguity of that question in respect of his actions.

“Kind of, yes.”

“Could you have prevented that from happening?”

“Well, no.”

“Then it’s not your fault.”

He put down the papers and looked at his butler. A pool of wisdom. Calmness spread as he was looking into his wrinkled but lively eyes.

“You know I got troubles accepting that,” he remarked and took the cup.

“That’s why I keep reminding you of that.”

He thought about his nightly encounter again.  
His hair had been neatly combed back, shining in that luscious green, his face gleaming with excitement, his eyes devouring him when he looked up at him from the floor after he had made him fall. Pure admiration. He had failed to see that.  
He now regretted having treated him so brutally, but on the other hand, he knew that he had just been going for that.

There had been a moment when he had been unsure about what to do, whether to stay in character and just beat him up until he would escape, which also meant that he would have had to rely on him wanting to escape, or whether to extend their relationship to their familiar roles as well.  
He admitted that his arousal had taken the upper hand and so he had taken his anger out on him, that way getting what he needed to leave in peace and also teaching him a lesson.

And he knew that he was able to take it. Whether he was willing to take that all was another thing but body-wise, he was sure he could bear it.  
He wondered what he would be doing right now.

The butler got up and left him. He switched on the TV to watch some news since he wasn’t into reading more of it anymore.   
As he was lost in thoughts there was a news flash, breaking news about an explosion in the rich district of Gotham. Apparently, there had been an explosion in the Fields district. No one had been killed; though, everything within a radius of 500 metres was dipped in purple colour. It had exploded at a location where he knew about the mafia storing their dirty money and when he saw the place in detail he burst into laughter.

“I am pleased to see that you are already feeling better. May I know what cheered you up?”

“It’s just the news,” he mumbled into his cup before he emptied it. He had been trying to get those men arrested for a very long time, but they were never seen, neither in daylight nor at night time and no one would say a word about them.   
Licking the coffee from his lips, he squinted his eyes. Why had he never thought of that or at least of something similar? It was the first time that he admired the Joker for his craziness.  
Further investigations about that explosion would reveal their business so the public would get to know about their crimes. Secondly, they had lost all their money now and they would have to go on a caper and the Batman would be there to greet them finally.

Smirking, he watched the chief officer talking.  
Why hadn’t he teamed up with him earlier? The Joker was capable of doing things which were even too shady for the Batman, and still alright. His smirk grew; he felt excited. That was worth another cup of coffee.

“Al, can you bring me another cup?”

“Yes, Master Bruce.”

Suddenly, he regretted having treated him like that. Thinking about the circumstances, he understood that he had misjudged him. He would have to apologize.  
And he already saw him getting hard at that.   
Though, he was glad he had given him some things to think on; some very physical things. After all, he had come for those as well. The wounds wouldn’t heal till the day when he would meet him again. He was already looking forward to that.

 

______________


End file.
